French Leave
by Biggles Mad
Summary: While Biggles and Bertie are sorting things out in Sets a Trap, Algy and Ginger take leave to visit France and catch up with many members of 666 Squadron, but it turns out to be a busman's holiday. By HRH.
1. An old friend gets in touch

**Chapter 1**

**An Old Friend Gets In Touch**

Algy looked up from the letter he was reading as Ginger sauntered in and seated himself at the breakfast table. The atmosphere was relaxed as they were both on leave and had the flat to themselves; Biggles and Bertie had departed for the office some time earlier.

"Have you got anything planned while you're off?" Algy asked the young man as Ginger poured himself a cup of coffee.

Ginger shrugged. "Nothing particular," he replied as he reached for the toast rack. "Cub did say he would be in town sometime and we would get together for a chinwag, maybe go to the flicks, but we haven't arranged anything definite."

"Do you remember Henry Harcourt?" asked Algy.

Ginger looked up in the middle of spreading marmalade on his toast. "Yes, of course," he answered, "but I haven't heard from him for ages. I thought he'd gone off somewhere in the back of beyond to work on his PhD. What made you ask that?"

Algy waved the letter. "This is from him. It seems that some distant relation has died and left him a chateau in France. As he's completed his studies, he wants to organise a celebratory house-warming and thought he'd have a squadron reunion at the same time. He said I was to let as many of the old gang know as possible, so if you're at a loose end …"

Ginger grinned. "Sounds promising," he averred as Algy passed him the letter to read. "It will do us good to get out of London for a while and catch up with old friends. Do you think Tug will come?"

"I don't know, it depends on how busy his taxi business is. I don't suppose Biggles will take time off and Bertie won't leave him to handle everything on his own," mused Algy, "but as we're on leave anyway, we might as well have a bit of fun. If the Auster is available, we could fly down. Got to keep our flying hours up," he added with a mischievous smile.

"Of course," returned Ginger seriously, keeping a straight face with difficulty. "It wouldn't do for us to get rusty!" Unable to contain his joy any longer, his face broke into a wide grin at the prospect of flying for pleasure and the unexpected trip to the continent.

"That's settled then," concluded Algy, leaning back in his chair. "I'll ask Tug, then contact Henry and let Biggles know we'll be out of the country for a week or so."

"Ask about the Auster at the same time!" urged Ginger, as he tackled his breakfast with gusto.

Algy grinned and nodded. He stood up and went off on his self appointed errands while Ginger made short work of the rest of his breakfast.

Mrs Symes was just clearing away when Algy came back. "That's settled," he announced in response to Ginger's questioning look. "Tug is too busy and, as I thought, Biggles won't leave the office. Bertie's staying on, too. Biggles says to remember him to Henry and hopes we'll have a good time." He laughed. "Bertie said to tell Henry he hopes he has got over his attachment to pigs."

"What about the Auster?" asked Ginger, grinning at the memory of Annie.

Algy smiled. "It's all ours. Smyth is making it ready even as I speak."

"Is Smyth coming?" Ginger wanted to know.

Algy shook his head. "He can't get the time off," he replied. "It's just the two of us."

"Well, there's no point in wasting any time," observed Ginger. "Have you sorted out the carnets?"

When Algy nodded, Ginger headed for the door. "I'm off to pack then. Normandy, here we come!"

Algy followed him out with a song in his heart. When he had spoken to Henry their former squadron comrade had been delighted to offer them accommodation in the chateau and he looked forward to a diverting week renewing old acquaintances and catching up on the gossip. "Shame Biggles had to work," he mused as he threw some clothes into a lightweight canvas bag. "Still, his loss is our gain."

Ginger was waiting for him in the hall. He, too, had a canvas holdall by his side.

"I see you're travelling light," remarked Ginger sarcastically as he noticed Algy had a tennis racket strapped to his bulging luggage.

"Well, you never know," grinned Algy. "I might get a chance for a game."

"What else have you packed?" Ginger wanted to know. "You look as though you're taking the kitchen sink! Are you sure we are going to get the Auster off the ground with all your excess baggage?"

Algy grinned good naturedly. "Don't worry," he replied soothingly. "I'm sure you've left me plenty of allowance," he grinned, nodding at Ginger's luggage. "I bet you haven't packed your mess kit."

Ginger pulled a face. "What on earth would I need that for?" he demanded. "I thought we were going on holiday. All I've got is my small kit and a couple of changes of clothes in case it's wet and a sweater in case it's cold. We're only going for a week, a fortnight at the most, and it's Normandy, not the côte d'Azur! I don't intend to be changing for dinner every night and spending my hard-earned cash at the casino!"

"It's plain to see you were never a boy scout," teased Algy as they descended the steps into Mount Street to hail a cab. "Be prepared!"

"I am," retorted Ginger as they climbed into a taxi to be taken to the airport. "Prepared for a relaxing holiday!"

Algy chuckled. He spared a thought for Biggles, slaving at his desk and wondered what, if anything, would turn up while they were away enjoying themselves.

Ginger, slumped on the opposite side of the back seat, watched the streets slide by and wondered who else would come to the reunion. Angus perhaps? Perhaps not, he concluded. Angus had settled down in Scotland after his disastrous attempt at farming in Paradise Valley and found himself a wife, a dour Scots lassie. Ginger had met the redoubtable new Mrs Mackail at the wedding and somehow doubted Angus would be granted leave of absence to go gallivanting across to France. Would Tex make it from America, mused Ginger. Last he had heard Tex was doing well with an oil company so perhaps he would be able to fly over. He smiled, recalling Tex had always had a soft spot for him as the baby of the squadron.

"A penny for them." Algy's voice broke into his reverie.

"I was just wondering who will be able to make it to the reunion," replied Ginger.

"Hmm," responded Algy. "I was thinking much the same." The taxi swung onto the hard standing by the Air Police hangar and pulled up. "We'll soon find out," concluded Algy as he paid the driver.

Ginger stowed the bags in the Auster and did the pre-flight checks while Algy filed the flight plan.

The short hop across to Le Touquet was uneventful. The sky was cloudless and traffic negligible. They took it in turns to pilot the aeroplane for the sheer joy of flying. Algy was at the controls when they made their final approach into the small French airfield.

The wheels kissed the runway smoothly and they trundled across to the terminal building. Ginger nudged his companion as they drew close. "Look who's over there!" he exclaimed, pointing to a dapper Frenchman in uniform standing near the entrance. "It's Marcel. What a coincidence!"

"Not really," returned Algy. "When I told him we were coming, he suggested he meet us when we landed here."

Ginger looked at him in surprise. "What for? Is he coming with us?"

Algy shook his head. "No, he said he'd like a quick chat as we passed through and I thought he might be useful if there were any problems with the formalities," he confessed.

"Fair enough," acknowledged Ginger as they alighted. Marcel hurried across and they exchanged greetings. With his help, clearing customs was a mere formality.

"'Ave you time for a drink?" asked Marcel when their bags had been marked.

"There's no rush," Algy told him. "There's plenty of daylight left. Henry said there's plenty of room for us to land in the park of the chateau and that's only about 40 miles from here. I've got it marked on my map." He pointed it out to Marcel.

They repaired to the café and ordered coffee. Marcel stirred sugar into his with a thoughtful air. "This chateau of your friend, Henri," he began, then broke off.

"What about it?" asked Ginger. "Do you know it?"

Marcel pursed his lips. "I read about it in the papers some month ago," he replied.

Ginger raised his eyebrows. "Is it famous for something?" he asked.

"Famous? No, at least not in a good sense. There was a fire – one of the parts of the building was almost destroyed. A man was found dead there."

Algy and Ginger exchanged glances. "Is it habitable?" asked Algy. "I mean, is there enough of the building not burned down for people to live there?"

"Oh yes," Marcel assured him. "The main, 'ow you say, wing?" Algy nodded and Marcel continued, "he is still good."

"That's a relief!" muttered Ginger under his breath. Louder he asked, "What about the dead man? Did he die in the fire? When Henry said a 'house warming', I didn't realise he meant it literally!"

Marcel shrugged his shoulders expressively as only a Frenchman can. "The body was so badly burned, the post mortem could not say for sure. He was _carbonisé_," added Marcel.

Ginger swallowed hard. "I thought we were coming on holiday," he muttered. "Now you tell me our accommodation has been burned down and there was a stiff on the premises! We've come to France to get away from that sort of thing!"

"When Algy tell me you are going to Meunière the bells they start to ring," said Marcel. "I look up the files. I think it best you know."

"Who was the dead man?" asked Algy. "Was it possible to identify him? Dental records for instance?"

Marcel nodded. "He was Le Comte de Harcourt, the owner of the chateau. He was the cousin at some distance of your friend who inherit."

Ginger grimaced. "A bit gruesome to come into property like that," he opined. "I'm surprised Henry wanted anything to do with the place."

"The chateau, he is very 'andsome," remarked Marcel. "When the damaged wing is repair', he will be magnificent again."

"Why did you think we ought to know?" queried Algy. "Do you think the Count's death was suspicious?"

Marcel stroked his pencil-thin moustache reflectively. "I keep, what you say, an open mind," he observed. "There is no official investigation, but you are going there ..." He paused.

"We might find out something," suggested Ginger.

Marcel smiled. "Beegles, he always say you are smart," he observed approvingly.

"Okay, Marcel," said Algy. "We'll act as your eyes and ears. If there's anything going on or we find out anything about the Count's death, we'll let you know."

They finished their coffee and went their separate ways.


	2. The lord of the manor

**Chapter 2**

**The Lord of the Manor**

"That must be the chateau over there," the speaker was Ginger, who had taken over the navigation for the last stretch of their journey.

Algy looked in the direction of Ginger's outstretched arm. A substantial white stone building stood in a large park a short distance away from a small village. He circled it as they examined where they were to stay.

"At least the roof looks intact," observed Ginger with some relief. Suddenly, he leaned forward, frowning.

Algy asked what was wrong.

"I thought I saw a movement," said Ginger staring at one of the pepper pot towers. "Just where the tower joins the roof of the main building." He shook his head. "I must have been mistaken. I can't see anybody there now. Maybe it was Henry looking at the repair bill."

Algy brought the aircraft round and lined it up for a landing. The park was flat and sparsely endowed with trees except for the avenue lining the drive which lead to the building itself, so his choice of landing ground was not restricted. He chose to put the Auster down near the chateau. As they swept low over the roof, a figure emerged from the front door and hurried out onto the terrace to watch them land.

Ginger breathed a sigh of relief when the wheels rumbled along the turf. There was always a risk involved in landing away from a recognised airfield and he had never entirely lost a sense of apprehension when they did.

The propeller swished to a halt and Algy yelled a greeting to the watcher through the window.

Henry, for it was he who had come out to see them arrive, shouted back and they wasted no time in meeting up and renewing their acquaintance.

"Who else is here?" asked Ginger.

"So far, you're the first," Henry told him as they made their way up the imposing stone staircase to the main entrance after the aeroplane had been made secure. As Marcel had said, the chateau was magnificent. From the park, the façade looked unmarked, the ravages of the fire hidden at the back of the building.

"I guessed it would be you when I saw the Auster," commented Henry with a smile. "I heard your approach from the drawing room. I see you haven't lost your touch."

"Then it wasn't you up on the roof?" queried Ginger as they approached the front entrance.

Henry shook his head. "You must be mistaken," he told Ginger. "Nobody's been on the roof. There's only me and an old retainer of the late Count's in residence. Robert is far too old to be able to climb the stairs and I haven't been up there since I inspected the damage when I first got here." He paused outside the open front door to let Algy precede him. "In fact, I'll have to see about engaging more staff if …"

What he was about to say was cut off as Ginger hurled himself against his host and pushed him through the entrance. Henry collided with Algy and both of them sprawled in the entrance hall. Outside, the spot where they had all been standing moments before had disappeared under a huge chunk of masonry, fallen from the parapet above the door.

"What?" spluttered Henry, white faced with shock.

"Thank goodness I spotted it!" Ginger got out with difficulty. "I only saw it out of the corner of my eye as you waved Algy through." He looked at Henry soberly. "I suggest we investigate the roof as a matter of priority. Either somebody has it in for you, or you need some urgent repairs done!"

Henry and Algy picked themselves up, but before they could act on Ginger's suggestion an old manservant came shuffling out of the servant's quarters.

"_Mon Dieu, Monsieur le Comte_!" he exclaimed, addressing Henry. "What is happening? What is that noise?"

"You may well ask, Robert," replied Henry soberly. "It seems my inheritance is falling down around my ears!"

Ginger looked at the old man as he fussed around his master. He seemed genuinely shocked by the accident, but at the same time, mused Ginger, if it had been deliberate, anybody on the roof would have had plenty of time to get away, thanks to his delaying tactics.

At length, once the introductions had been made and sleeping arrangements sorted out, Algy, Ginger and Henry ascended the steep spiral staircase to the roof. Ginger noted that the exit to the leads was made through a small door in the round tower, just where he thought he had glimpsed movement before they landed.

Henry picked his way gingerly over the ancient roof until he was beside the gap in the parapet where the masonry had fallen. He bent down to pick up a cold chisel which was lying there but Algy stopped him.

"Don't touch that," he growled. "It may have fingerprints on it. If anybody wanted to loosen that chunk of rock and lever it over, that would have been ideal."

Henry turned pale. "You don't think …" he began. "Surely not!"

Algy met his eyes. "I'm a policeman now, Henry," he reminded their erstwhile colleague in a serious voice. "It's my job to be suspicious. You've been in your ivory tower too long." He took his handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wrapped the tool in it, handling it as little as possible.

"It will be interesting to see if Marcel can find a match," murmured Ginger as they descended the staircase.

"I'll contact him first thing," promised Algy. "I'm beginning to think this isn't going to be much of a holiday after all."

"Of course, it'll be a holiday!" exclaimed Ginger optimistically, "but it might turn out to be the busman's variety," he added with a grin.


	3. Noblesse oblige

**Chapter 3**

**Noblesse Oblige**

After dinner, which the comrades ate with their host in the faded splendour of the state dining room, waited on by Robert, they sat round the fire in the elegant drawing room and exchanged stories of their exploits since they had parted at the end of the war.

Ginger, relaxing on the sofa with his feet stretched out towards the log fire, for the evening was chill within the stone walls, listened to his companions gossiping. He was forcibly reminded of mess nights when he had entertained the squadron with the adventures of Doctor Duck. Now, he mused, it was Henry who was a Doctor; having completed his PhD and shaken the Chancellor's hand earlier that summer. Not just a Doctor, reflected Ginger. Robert had addressed Henry as Monsieur le Comte.

As if he had read Ginger's thoughts, Algy brought up the subject of Henry's elevation to the French peerage.

Henry coloured. "It's a bit embarrassing," he confessed. "I suspect Robert is a bit of a snob; he always calls me Count."

"Well, if you don't get your roof repaired," quipped Ginger, "you could well be out for the count!"

Henry smiled wanly. "To be honest," he admitted, "taking on this pile has been a bit daunting. There have been quite a few things going wrong."

Ginger pricked up his ears. "How so?" he encouraged.

Henry shrugged. "Oh, petty little things," he said dismissively.

"Well I wouldn't call the fire that killed your cousin petty," observed Algy. "Start with that."

"I don't really know much about that," confessed Henry. "The first I heard of it was when the lawyers got in touch and said that I was his sole surviving male relative and the chateau – and the title – came to me."

"But you must have been curious," prompted Ginger.

"Of course," acknowledged Henry, "but every time I tried to find out anything I came up against a wall of silence. I suppose partly it's the fact that I'm English and although I did French at school, I wouldn't exactly say I'm fluent," he concluded wryly. "It's burned out the whole of one wing. It's supposed to have started when Henri …" he broke off, embarrassed. "Our families weren't exactly original when it came to naming their offspring, whatever side of the channel," he explained; "my father was called Henry, too." He topped up his brandy glass absent-mindedly and resumed, "I gather the fire broke out in the early hours of the morning when Henri either knocked over or dropped an oil lamp. The paraffin splashed onto his clothes and that was one of the reasons why his body was so badly burned. In his agony, he must have brushed against the hangings and of course they went up like tinder. We are a good 20 kilometres from the nearest town of any size so by the time the fire brigade got here, it was too late to do anything except stop the blaze spreading to the rest of the house."

Ginger and Algy exchanged glances. "That's very convenient if somebody wanted him out of the way," observed Ginger.

"You don't think …" began Henry expostulatingly, but corrected himself immediately. "Of course you do," he admitted incredulously, "you're policemen, aren't you? I keep forgetting." He shook his head. "I'm sure there was nothing like that."

"Who told you this much?" Algy wanted to know.

"Robert," announced Henry. "He was the only other person present, but he was in the servants' wing, which is a long way from the seat of the fire. By the time he got there, Henri was dead or dying.."

"Did he tell you that?" asked Ginger.

"Well, no actually," admitted Henry. "Not in so many words. I just got that impression from his account of the accident." He looked from one to the other accusingly. "You can't tell me Robert is a killer. He's seventy if he's a day!"

"What did he do during the war?" asked Ginger meaningfully.

Henry hesitated. "I don't know. I've never asked him and he's never brought the subject up. Besides," he countered, "I don't know much about detective work, but I thought you were supposed to have a motive. What motive could he possibly have? He didn't even know I would keep him on – he could have lost his place and that would have meant he'd have to find somewhere to stay as well."

Ginger looked at Henry pityingly. "I think it was a fair bet that your family doesn't just share Christian names," he told him. "Did you ever consider throwing him out on his ear?"

Henry smiled and shook his head. "I see what you mean," he confessed. "I could hardly give him his marching orders after a life-time in Henri's service."

"Had he been in Henri's service a long time?" asked Algy.

Again Henry hesitated. "You know, I have no idea," he admitted. "I just assumed he had."

"For someone who has just completed five years of research, you do a lot of assuming!" scoffed Ginger.

"That's different," claimed Henry. "I know where I am in the Groves of Academe. You don't get people suspecting murder in everyday incidents for a start!"

Ginger was just about to remind Henry that lethal fires and near lethal falling masonry were hardly everyday incidents in his experience when the exclamation "Murder, Monsieur le Comte?" from the shadows by the door took them all by surprise.

None of them had heard Robert enter and Ginger wondered just how much of their conversation he had overheard.

"Our guests are policemen from Scotland Yard, Robert," announced Henry with a smile. "I'm trying to persuade them to give their suspicious minds a holiday while they are here. They are too used to death and destruction. They need a break."

The old man advanced slowly into the room carrying a tray. He looked piercingly from Algy to Ginger as he murmured, "I am sure that advice is most sound, Monsieur le Comte. We should not like anything to spoil their holiday." Ginger felt a frisson run down his spine. The words had been softly spoken and outwardly expressed no more than a wish that the guests enjoy their stay, but there was something in the old man's eyes that hinted at a deeper, more threatening meaning. Ginger tried to tell himself it was late, they had dined well, he was tired and his imagination was beginning to play tricks, but the hairs rose on the back of his neck all the same.


	4. An early start

**Chapter 4**

**An Early Start**

Ginger awoke early after a disturbed night. The scents and sounds of France always evoked uneasy memories for him and the recollection of Robert's words before they retired for the night had not been conducive to restful sleep.

He lay back, his hands under his head as the dawn light revealed more details of his room. He had left the windows open, although the shutters were closed. The light, penetrating the louvers, threw ever-brightening bars across the floor. In the shadow beyond their brilliance, he could see the panelling was painted a light grey-blue, the mouldings still touched here and there with traces of gilding which had resisted the passage of time. Above him, the tester of the four-poster had seen better days. Unbidden, images of another four-poster flashed into his head and Jeanette seemed very close.

Unable to stay in bed any longer, Ginger threw back the covers and got up. There was water left in the jug from the previous evening. It was cold, but he had washed in cold water before and the shock on his body helped chase away memories he had long fought to repress.

He shivered as the chill draught from the window touched his bare flesh. He flung his clothes on quickly and went across to open the shutters. Instinctively, his eyes sought out the Auster, which they had pegged down near the chateau. The sky was lightening, but as yet the sun's rosy fingers had not reached the area where they had left the aircraft. He stared into the gloom and made out the dark shape of the monoplane where they had left it.

He paused a moment on the balcony to enjoy the sunrise. It was not as spectacular as some he had witnessed in the tropics, but as the pale flush faded to be replaced by tints of turquoise, he felt his spirit lift.

He was about to turn and go inside, when a movement below him caught his eye. It might have been an animal, returning to its lair after a night's hunting, but his attention was drawn by its proximity to the Auster. He stood still, eyes probing the shadows, looking for whatever it was to move again.

Nothing happened. He told himself he had imagined it. He needed a holiday, he thought cynically, his nerves were all to pieces.

He had just decided that his eyes were playing tricks in the half light when it happened again. The shadows were less deep now and he could make out a dark shape edging towards the Auster. Whatever it was, it did not move like an animal. Ginger watched, his heart in his mouth, undecided on his best course of action. The man – for such it was as he discerned in the growing light – was acting suspiciously. Ginger could find no innocent excuse for such a clandestine approach. Torn between a desire to see more and the need to stop any act of sabotage, he fidgeted from foot to foot. When the figure reached the Auster he could stand it no more.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he yelled in English. "Get away from our machine!"

Whether the man understood him or not he could not tell, but it was plain he knew he had been spotted. He whipped round as if he had been shot. Ginger caught a glimpse of a pale face uplifted in his direction before the man spun on his heel and ran swiftly off into the bushes. He was too far away to note any details, but from the speed of the would-be saboteur's departure, Ginger ruled out Robert. The fugitive was a much younger man.

This conclusion was borne out by the appearance of Robert on the terrace below his window a few moment's later. He threw Ginger a barely concealed look of hatred, which was quickly replaced by the urbane mask of the well trained servant. Whether it was because he had thwarted a sabotage attempt or merely for disturbing the household Ginger could not decide.

"You called, Monsieur?" enquired the old retainer.

Ginger was tempted to laugh at the incongruity of the question He decided, however to dissemble. "There was something near our aeroplane, a deer, perhaps," he ventured. "I didn't want it to do any damage, so I shooed it away. Sorry if I woke everybody."

Algy appeared on the balcony behind him, wearing a silk dressing gown over his pyjamas. "Can't a body get any sleep in this place?" he grumbled.

"If whoever it was prowling around had got at the Auster, the next time we took off we might have been enjoying a permanent sleep," growled Ginger as he walked past his comrade into his bedroom.

Algy, shocked, followed him in. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Ginger told him what he had seen. "I couldn't wait any longer," he concluded. "The spot where the Auster is parked was still in shadow; I couldn't see well enough to take the risk of letting him get any closer."

Algy sat down on the bed. "Phew!" he exclaimed. "The thought of bits dropping of the aircraft every time I take off will give me the screaming heebie-jeebies!"

"We'll just have to make sure we are _very_ thorough when we do the pre-flight checks before you take that cold chisel to Marcel," Ginger told him. "Forewarned is forearmed."

"Did you see who it was?" queried Algy.

Ginger shook his head. "Too far away and in shadow," he admitted. "I did get a quick glimpse when he looked up, but I wouldn't swear to know him again if I met him."

"I bet you put the wind up him," Algy opined with a hollow laugh. "He wouldn't be expecting anybody to be about at this time of the morning."

"I don't know about that," countered Ginger. "He fair put the wind up me when I spotted him." He shuddered. "I dread to think what he might have done if I hadn't come out onto the balcony."

Algy stood up. "I'll get off as soon as I've had breakfast," he announced. "There's no need for both of us to go. I shouldn't be away long. Keep your eyes peeled while I'm gone."

Ginger followed him onto the landing. "I'll help you check the machine," he promised as he parted from Algy. When the latter disappeared into his room to get dressed, Ginger headed for the dining room.

There was no sign of Henry, but the table had already been laid. Ginger helped himself from the chafing dishes on the sideboard and sat down.

He had just raised his fork to his mouth when Henry appeared in the doorway.

"Sleep well?" enquired the newcomer jovially.

"So-so," answered Ginger vaguely. "I was up early. Tell me, Henry," he continued. "Who is staying at the chateau apart from you, Robert, Algy and me?"

Henry sat at the breakfast table with a loaded plate and looked at Ginger puzzled.

"Nobody," he asserted. "Tex and Ferocity should be arriving later today and Taffy tomorrow. What makes you ask that?"

"I thought I saw someone in the park this morning," Ginger told him. "Would it be easy for anyone from the village to get to the chateau?"

Henry shook his head. "I shouldn't think so. The gates are kept locked and there's a high stone wall all round the park. They'd have to scale that if they wanted to get in. I doubt anybody would bother."

"If the gates are kept locked, how are Tex and Ferocity going to get in?" Ginger wanted to know.

"Robert will go down in the car and collect them from the station when they are due. He will take the key to open the gates," explained Henry. "When I've got settled in properly and everything is sorted out, I shall have some sort of radio communication installed, so arrivals can contact the house from the gate, but for the moment I rely on knowing who is coming and when."

"Don't you have any houses on the estate?" asked Algy. "Farm-workers' cottages, gamekeepers' cottages or the like?"

Henry shook his head. "The _domaine_ is not like a normal English estate," he explained. "There is no home farm and Henri didn't go in much for shooting – hunting as they call it here. Robert lives in, but any other servants come from the village."

"Then you do have other servants?" queried Ginger. "I thought you said there wasn't anybody else."

"You asked me if there was anybody else _staying_ at the chateau," Henry pointed out, "not whether I employed anybody else. At the moment, there's only Robert in the house."

Ginger gave him an exasperated look, which Henry ignored. "There's a woman who comes in to help Robert with the cleaning and the laundry," he continued.

"Anybody else?" prompted Algy.

"There's a gardener-handyman," added Henry. "He comes in to tend to the parterres. Sometimes he has a young man with him – an apprentice, I suppose."

"That's widened the investigation a bit, anyway," commented Ginger.

"Let me have their names, Henry," urged Algy. "I'll have a word with Marcel Brissac, a colleague of ours at the Sureté. He'll be able to tell us if they have any form."

Henry looked at him askance. "Any form?" he echoed. "Good heavens, Algy, you're even beginning to _sound_ like a policeman!"

Algy smiled. "That's because that's what I am, Henry." He stood up. "If you've finished doing justice to Henry's sausages," he said to Ginger, "perhaps you'll help me get the Auster ready and I'll see Marcel straight away."

Ginger tossed his napkin on the table. "Right-ho," he acknowledged. "We'll make sure that deer didn't touch the aeroplane," he added meaningfully with a discreet nod to Robert who had just entered to clear away the plates.


	5. Ginger takes a ride

**Chapter 5**

**Ginger Takes A Ride**

As Ginger and Algy strolled out to where the Auster was parked, they kept a sharp lookout for anything suspicious, but nothing disturbed the tranquil scene.

Ginger bent down and examined the ground where he had seen the figure. The grass was bruised but gave no clues to the identity of the would-be saboteur.

"Anything?" queried Algy when Ginger straightened up.

"Nothing," replied Ginger, shaking his head. "All I can say is that I didn't imagine it; someone was here, but I don't know who or why."

"Let's give the machine a once-over," suggested Algy. "I want to be sure nothing's going to fall apart when I'm in the air."

They went over the Auster with a fine tooth comb, but could spot nothing amiss. Eventually, Algy was satisfied and they swung the nose round to face the park.

"I'll just go and check there are no unseen obstacles," offered Ginger. "We'd look pretty silly if we'd turned ourselves inside out looking for damage before you took off only to have you tip on your nose because there was a hidden rock."

"Or a trip wire strung between the trees," added Algy.

Ginger looked at him sharply. "Do you really think so?" he asked. "That would be hard to explain away as an accident."

"If there were any survivors," Algy told him grimly. "Whoever it is would no doubt expect us both to be in the machine."

Ginger strode off sombrely to examine the take off run. Despite Algy's pessimistic assessment, the area was clear. He walked back and reported his findings.

"Good," grunted Algy. "Just nip up and see if Henry has got that list of names yet then I can drop them off when I leave this with Marcel," he said, stowing the cold chisel, still wrapped in a handkerchief, on the passenger seat. "If it doesn't take too long to find out anything I'll wait and bring the gen back. Expect me in about six hours. "

"Okay," acknowledged Ginger as he stepped back. He ran lightly up the steps to find Henry coming out of the front door clutching a piece of paper. "Is that the list of names?" he asked.

Henry nodded. "Are you going with Algy?" he wanted to know.

Ginger shook his head. "I think I'll take a walk into the village and see if I can find out anything there," he told his host.

"Be careful," said Henry on an impulse. "All this talk of murder has made me very jittery. I must be losing my nerve."

Ginger grinned and ran down the steps to give Algy the list. When he told his colleague of his plans, Algy echoed Henry's admonition.

"There's something fishy going on here," he added seriously. "I don't know what it is, but I can feel it. Something isn't right."

Ginger nodded. "I know what you mean. I don't like the way Robert looks at us, for a start. He's hiding something, I'm positive."

Algy shut the door and pulled the self starter. The propeller swished round and the engine burst into life with a small puff of smoke from the exhaust. Ginger backed away from the slipstream as the aircraft began to move. He watched it take off and wheel away before he went back to the house.

Henry was still standing on the terrace watching the disappearing aeroplane. Ginger joined him and they went into the hall together.

"Are you sure you want to walk into the village?" asked Henry. "It's a fair hike, you know?"

"You're right," agreed Ginger. "It will take me a long time to hoof it there and back. Is there any means of transport I can borrow to go to the village, then, Henry? Otherwise, I'm going to be away most of the day."

"Robert will be taking the car to fetch Tex and Ferocity, so you can go with him, if you like." Henry told him.

Ginger demurred, unwilling to have Robert a party to any investigation he might make. "That would mean I'd have to come back with him or have a long walk," he argued. "I'd rather be independent."

"There's a bicycle in the stable block," offered Henry. "If you can ride it, you can borrow that. I used it when I first got here to get around the park."

"The bicycle sounds fine," confirmed Ginger. "Have you got a spare key to the gate?"

"Spare keys?" echoed Henry. "I'm not sure that there is more than one set …"

"And Robert keeps those," Ginger finished for him.

"Well, yes," admitted Henry.

"Then perhaps you'd ask him for them," suggested Ginger. "I'd rather not have to follow him down when he takes the car out and be stuck without any means of getting back in."

"Of course," murmured Henry and departed in the direction of the servants' quarters.

Ginger went back to his room and sorted out a few items he thought might come in handy on his quest. He wrapped them in a handkerchief and stowed them in his pocket. When he came back downstairs, Henry was standing in the hall with a large key in his hand. He made a pantomime of transferring it solemnly to Ginger with a quip about handing over the keys to his kingdom and offered to show him where the bicycle was kept.

They made their way together to the stable block, a stone building a short distance behind the house. The bicycle was housed in one of the stalls that had once been the home of the Count's carriage horses. Straw still littered the floor in places and there was a faint smell of ammonia lingering in the air.

From habit, Ginger checked the machine over. It had clearly seen better days, but it looked serviceable enough. He tested the brakes and found them satisfactory despite the dilapidated appearance of the bicycle. With Henry following him, he wheeled the machine into the courtyard and swung his leg over the crossbar. It had been some time since he had ridden a bicycle, he thought. He hoped it was true that it was an art that, once learned, was never forgotten.

Henry waved as he set off. Wobbling across the cobbles, Ginger did not risk taking a hand off the handlebars to respond, but as he emerged onto the smoother surface of the drive he found it easier to control the wayward machine. By the time he had reached the gates he was feeling quite at home on two wheels.

He drew the key from his pocket and turned it in the massive lock. The mechanism worked smoothly. Clearly someone had been at pains to keep it oiled.

Ginger shut the heavy gates behind him and set off towards the village. Emerging onto the tree-lined by-way, he started pedalling the ungainly machine along the road.

It was a pleasant journey. The day was fine and Ginger began to enjoy himself. As he free-wheeled down a slight incline he began to turn over in his mind some plans of action. He had no set idea of what he intended to do. He thought it best to play it by ear when he got into the village. The church would be a good place to start, he mused. The curé would know everything that was going on in his parish, he reflected. Then, perhaps a visit to the café might turn up something. Those in the habit of frequenting the _terrasses_ to watch the world go by did not miss much, he guessed. The problem, he realised, would be finding a way to unlock the knowledge hidden behind their suspicion of strangers.

Feeling somewhat daunted by the task he had set himself, Ginger turned his bicycle into the main square and parked it outside the church.


	6. The rest of the party arrives

**Chapter 6**

**The Rest of the Party Arrives**

"Say, this is a one-horse town!" The speaker, a lean Texan wearing a cowboy hat pushed back on his head, looked around in amazement as he emerged from the railway station. "Where is Henry's shat-oh?"

"I don't think it's in the middle of town, Tex," replied his companion, whose nasal accent betrayed his Liverpool upbringing. "Henry said he'd send someone for us, so I suppose we'd better hang around until we meet up."

Before Tex could comment, an old Frenchman approached them deferentially. "Monsieur O'Hara and Monsieur Ferris?" he enquired courteously.

"Sure is!" exclaimed Tex as Ferocity nodded his agreement. "You been sent by Henry?"

Robert looked at him with disfavour. "Monsieur le Comte has instructed me to meet you and take you to the chateau, where he is awaiting you," he told him with a hint of disdain. "Please step this way, I have a car waiting. I hope your journey was pleasant."

"Yes, thank you," replied Ferocity politely. "I hope you haven't been waiting long. The train was delayed at Roo-on."

"The count's instructions were to wait for you, monsieur," answered Robert icily. "It makes no matter that the train is delayed."

"Gee," enthused Tex, unabashed. "Henry a count now! Sure has changed since we last met him, eh, Ferocity?" he nudged his companion, who smiled broadly.

"I'm looking forward to seeing him again," announced Ferocity as they followed Robert to the main square where the ancient limousine that now belonged to Henry was parked. "And the others," he added. "I haven't seen Taffy since he was demobbed. I can't believe that anybody would employ him as a test pilot with his reputation for breaking things!"

Tex chuckled. "And young Ginger at Scotland Yard, too!" he grinned. "I just can't imagine the kid as a cop," he continued, shaking his head.

"Judging by what I've been reading in the papers, Biggles is doing quite well at it," countered Ferocity. "So Ginger must have got the hang of it."

They reached the shining black Renault whereupon Robert opened the door for his passengers. Tex noted the armorial design on the door and nudged Ferocity again to draw his attention to it before they got in. Ferocity pulled a face. "I hope Henry hasn't let it go to his head," he remarked. "He was never one to have a lot of side when he was in Treble Six."

When they had settled into the leather seats behind their chauffeur, they fell into conversation again as Robert drove the big car out of the square, threading his way through the narrow streets before turning onto the main road to the chateau. The avenues of trees whipped past them hypnotically as they powered down the straight highway.

"It's funny," murmured Ferocity as they speeded on their journey, "to think Bertie must have been flying over here before he joined the squadron. He was in France, wasn't he?"

"Sure, but further north, I guess," replied Tex. "Near Ameens, I heard."

Ferocity fell silent, absorbed in the scenery. Small fields with brown and white cattle grazing on the lush green grass, interspersed with broken down farm buildings, many missing their roof tiles and baring their rafters to the sky like skeletons half devoured by carrion, lined the roads behind the poplars. Born and raised in a large city, Ferocity found it faintly depressing.

Tex for his part wondered how on earth anybody made a living from so few head of cows. Everything was so goddam small, he marvelled. Used to a state where it was common to say, "the sun has riz, the sun has set and we ain't out of Texas yet", he felt confined by the tiny farms and pocket handkerchief pastures.

Ferocity was puzzled by the bunches of greenery he saw growing in profusion through the leaves of the trees beside the road. He thought it looked as though someone had stuck bushes of green twigs in the upper branches. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him and he asked Robert.

"That is mistletoe, monsieur," came the reply. "It is harvested and exported by the landowners."

Ferocity was so surprised he almost laughed aloud. He had enjoyed many a kiss beneath the berries of the Christmas decoration. To see it growing on the trees came as something of a shock. He had never really thought about where it came from, he realised. It made the landscape seem even more alien.

The car slowed down as an oblong road sign announced the village of Meunière. Ferocity recognised it as the name of the place Henry was living and pointed it out to Tex. If he expected to have arrived at his destination, however, he was disappointed, as the car meandered carefully through the narrow streets and emerged onto a road that was little more than a by-way. An overgrown stone in the verge announced it was the V38. They were travelling much more slowly now. The road dipped and started to rise. In the distance Ferocity caught a glimpse of a white stone building. It looked like a castle in a fairy tale.

"Do you think that's Henry's place?" he asked Tex in wonder.

"Hell, no!" exclaimed Tex, taking in the turrets and pepper-pot roofs. "That's like something out of a Walt Disney movie!"

Robert interrupted their speculation as they neared the top of the rise. "We have arrived at the chateau of Meunière, messieurs," he announced.

The car breasted the rise and stopped suddenly. In front of them, right at the gates of the chateau, there had been an accident. A car and a bicycle were inextricably entangled. The driver of the car was trying without success to remove the wreckage from beneath his wheels. Of the cyclist there was no sign.

Tex and Ferocity alighted and went to see if they could help. The driver looked up as they approached.

"Well, if it isn't Tex and Ferocity, look you!" exclaimed the man in a broad Welsh accent. "I must be at the right place, then!"

Taffy Hughes had lived up to his nickname of Crasher once again.


	7. What happened to Ginger

**Chapter 7**

**What Happened to Ginger**

Ginger leaned the bicycle against the war memorial in front of the church and made his way through the imposing west door. Inside it was cool and gloomy, lit by the flickering light of votive candles.

He made his way down the aisle, looking around as his eyes became accustomed to the low light.

In a side chapel, he discovered the last resting place of the Norman branch of the Harcourt family. The church dated from the thirteenth century and it seemed that members of Henry's family had been buried there since it was first consecrated. Indeed, mused Ginger, as he tried to decipher the descriptions, it may have been some of Henry's French forebears who had commissioned the building in the first place. The late count, whose untimely demise had led to Henry's inheritance, had been laid to rest in the vault with his ancestors. A bright new brass plaque gave the details of his life. Ginger stood for a moment reading the inscription and wondering what sort of man he had been.

"The late count will be sadly missed, my son," said a soft voice behind Ginger.

The young man spun round to see a priest standing at the entrance to the chapel. The man, dressed in the traditional soutane, was in his late fifties, he judged, but what had surprised him was that he had been addressed in English.

"Did you know him well, Father?" Ginger asked the priest in the same language.

"He regularly attended Mass," the priest replied, which Ginger took to mean 'yes, but not socially'.

"It was a sad end," commented Ginger.

The priest nodded. "To die alone and in sin is a terrible thing," he murmured.

"In sin?" queried Ginger, wondering if the count had been involved in some sort of scandal.

"He had not been to confession for some weeks before his death," clarified the curé.

"And that was unusual?" suggested Ginger.

"Certainly," admitted the priest. "He was most careful in his observance."

Ginger looked at the clergyman enquiringly. "Do you think there was a reason?"

"You are very curious, my son," observed the priest.

"I am staying at the chateau," Ginger informed him. "The late count's cousin and I are old friends."

"Ah," breathed the priest softly. "The young Englishman who has come to live with us."

Ginger nodded. He decided to take the plunge and divulge some more information. "Henry and I were comrades during the war," he confessed to his interlocutor.

At the mention of the war a shadow flitted across the priest's lined face. Ginger wondered if the events at the chateau were linked to the turbulent past. Normandy had been the scene of bitter fighting during the Liberation. Were old scores still being settled, and slates wiped clean despite the distance in time?

When the priest said nothing, Ginger ventured, "was the count here during the war?"

"_Monsieur le comte_ did not shirk his duty," the priest told Ginger stiffly, "unlike some others."

"Meaning?" queried Ginger, his curiosity piqued.

"The comte remained here, caring for the people on his estate," was the rejoinder.

"And others did what?" pressed Ginger.

The priest's face became closed. "It was some years ago, my son. We should forgive and forget."

"Perhaps, _mon père_," suggested Ginger dryly, "some people have long memories and are less than charitable."

"That may be, my son," came the quiet response. "It is my daily task to pray for the repose of men's souls and I must be about my Master's business. May God be with you."

With that, the priest turned and went out into the main body of the church, his cassock swishing against the stone flags as he marched down the aisle. Ginger watched him genuflect before the altar and disappear through a small door in the south transept.

Ginger went and sat in one of the ancient pews to mull over what he had gathered. The count's behaviour in the weeks before his death had not followed its usual pattern; was that significant? And what about the way the priest had reacted when he had mentioned his war-time link with Henry? Just what did the count do during the Occupation and Liberation? And who were the "others" the priest had mentioned, who had not done their duty? What _had_ they done? Was all this relevant anyway? Was the fire an accident after all and the count's death just a tragic consequence? Ginger remembered the falling masonry. Two accidents in the family were getting just a bit too coincidental for his liking. And then there was the shadowy figure in the park. No, he decided, there was more to this than met the eye.

Feeling he could learn no more where he was, he stood up and felt in his pocket for some coins. On an impulse he bought a votive candle and lit it before he went out into the street.

As he emerged, the sunlight dazzled him and it took a moment or two to adjust to the brightness. He hesitated on the top of the steps, shading his eyes.

There was a café opposite. Ginger glanced at his watch; it was nearly lunch time. He decided that he might as well eat before setting off back. He seated himself on the terrace. With any luck, he thought, as he waited for the waiter to arrive to take his order, if he kept his eyes and ears open, he might learn something.

He had not long to wait. A surly middle-aged man in a white shirt and black trousers appeared at his elbow. A livid scar ran down the side of the waiter's face from the middle of his forehead to his chin.

Ginger took the menu that was held out to him and made his choice. When his food had been put in front of him, he was about to tuck in when he became aware that the waiter was scrutinising him intently. Discomfited by the man's gaze, Ginger met his eyes. The hatred and suspicion he saw in them made a shiver run down his spine.

The waiter turned round and went back to the kitchen without a word, leaving Ginger cold with shock. Why should a man he had never met harbour such strong feelings against him, he wondered. Or had he imagined it? It seemed so fantastic. He tried to shrug off the feeling of brooding menace, but it persisted. Despite the sunshine and the gaily coloured umbrellas that cheered the pavement, there was an unpleasant atmosphere in the main square that day. With a vague sense of unease, Ginger mentally added the man with the scar to his list of the unexplained.

Ginger lingered over his meal, hoping that he would be able to find an excuse to engage some of the locals in conversation, but they kept themselves to themselves and the opportunity did not arise. Curiously enough, he noted, the surly waiter did not reappear. The other customers were being served by a younger man.

Abandoning all hope of learning anything to add to what he had already achieved, Ginger paid his bill and made his way across to where he had left the bicycle. The journey home was mostly uphill, he remembered, except for the stretch by the chateau, so he would have a long pull against the collar. The sooner he got started, the sooner it would be over.

The ride was as tiring as he had expected and he was glad to breast the rise with the chateau in sight. A car was approaching in the distance, driving in the middle of the road. Ginger applied the brakes as his machine began to pick up speed on the incline. With a metallic ping, the brake cables snapped and the machine began to accelerate.

With the car looming ever closer and his speed increasing rapidly, Ginger was left with no option. He swung his leg over the crossbar so that both feet were on the same pedal and put one foot down to try to slow his progress. The result was inevitable. He lost his balance and staggered across the road, ending up in a ditch. Breathless from the fall, he saw the bicycle career down the hill straight for the oncoming vehicle. The driver saw it coming at the last minute and tried to swerve, but with the perversity of machines everywhere, the cycle altered course as if guided by some unseen hand and struck the car full in the radiator grill before disappearing under the wheels. Clouds of steam escaped as the motorist descended to look at the damage.

As Ginger watched from the bottom of the ditch, still trying to get his breath back, the limousine with Robert at the wheel swept past him. He saw the reunion of his former squadron colleagues from his temporary resting place and could not resist a smile. Of all the people who could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, trust it to have been Taffy "Crasher" Hughes!


	8. A miss is as good as a mile

**Chapter 8**

**A Miss Is As Good As A Mile**

"Taffy!" exclaimed Ferocity and Tex in unison. "What happened? Are you alright? What happened to the cyclist?"

"Well it was like this, look you," explained Taffy, abandoning attempts to remove the mangled wreckage. "I was driving along minding my own business and this bicycle just came out of nowhere and took it into its head to run into me!"

This statement was greeted with howls of laughter.

"No, no," insisted Taffy. "I'm serious! It did. There was nobody driving."

More laughter greeted this assertion.

"I tried to avoid it," insisted Taffy, "but it was determined to get me, look you. I turned left and it peeled off and swerved into me!"

The laughter by now had reached gale force. Tex and Ferocity were holding their sides, barely able to stand. Robert looked on uncomprehending from beside the limousine.

"So there isn't anybody hiding under your car, then?" gasped Ferocity at last.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," claimed Taffy. "It was an empty bicycle. It had nobody on it!"

"It had your number on it," laughed Ferocity and this time Taffy joined in the mirth.

"You'll be able to chalk another one up on your slate – one bicycle confirmed destroyed," teased Tex, provoking more merriment.

Taffy paused in the act of wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes and glanced up. A bedraggled figure was limping down the road. "Look who's here!" he cried.

"It just had to be _you_, didn't it, Taffy?" exclaimed Ginger as he approached his erstwhile comrades. "I see you haven't lost your touch!"

There was momentary chaos as everyone exchanged greetings.

"So it was _your_ machine that went for me?" accused Taffy. "Why weren't you riding it?"

"If I had, you would have been scraping me off your car," asserted Ginger grimly. "The brakes failed just after I got over the brow of the hill. I had to bale out in a hurry and I didn't have the benefit of a parachute!"

"There's unfortunate for you!" exclaimed Taffy.

"You could put it like that," murmured Ginger dryly, "but there have been a lot of unfortunate happenings lately."

"Say, kid, are you okay?" Tex wanted to know as Ginger rubbed his bruised elbow.

"Just a bit shaken," admitted Ginger. "I was winded, which is why I didn't turn up straight away." He turned to Robert. "See that Mr Hughes' car is moved and the bicycle taken back to the stable," he ordered. "You can give us all a lift back to the chateau."

With that, he piled onto the back seat, joined by Taffy, Tex and Ferocity. If Robert objected to being given orders he showed no resentment. The perfect servant, he opened the gates, drove the limousine through and locked them afterwards.

As the car bumped along the drive, Tex, Ferocity and Taffy caught up on the gossip. Listening to them, it was as if the years had dropped away and Ginger was transported back to the mess during the dark days when Britain was struggling for her survival. Before he had time to contribute much to the exchange of news, the car had drawn up before the entrance and they all descended.

While Robert was unloading Tex and Ferocity's luggage, Ginger led the party up the steps. He could not resist a glance upwards as he was about to enter the main door, but there was no sign of falling debris. He entered the hall and shouted Henry's name.

The reunion which followed Henry's appearance was boisterous with much good natured banter as the nature of Taffy's arrival was recounted. They soon retired to the drawing room to sprawl on the sofas and continue eradicating the gulf left by the passing years.

The sound of an aero-engine made their ears prick up and conversation died on their lips.

"That should be Algy Lacey," announced Ginger as they listened to a light aircraft circling the chateau. "He and I flew down in the police Auster. He went off to Paris to consult a colleague in Interpol."

As airmen will, wherever they are gathered, they went outside to watch the aeroplane land, spread out on the terrace at the top of the steps. Algy swept low over the building and lined up for his final approach over the avenue from which he had taken off.

Suddenly, the engine note changed as Algy pushed the throttle forward and abandoned the landing, pulling up over the trees and circling away.

"What made him do that?" asked Henry.

"He must have seen something," surmised Ginger. "Let's go and have a look."

Together they went down to the stretch of park where Algy had intended to land. Beside one of the trees, a magnificent stag was trapped by his antlers. The animal had got snagged by a wire stretched across the avenue. His struggles to free himself had only succeeded in entangling him more tightly.

"Algy must have spotted it at the last minute," exclaimed Ginger, white-faced. "If it hadn't been for that stag …" he left the sentence unfinished. As airmen, they all knew what the result would have been.

They heard the engine note die away as Algy put the machine down in another part of the park. Ginger took out his clasp knife and, helped by Tex, hacked at the wire between the stag and the twist which attached it to the tree. The stag watched him, nervously. Speaking soothingly Ginger cut through the wire. He hoped the stag would not struggle or try to run away before the wire was removed. As if the animal realised he was trying to help, it remained still. Carefully, Ginger cut the wire at the other side of the deer. The magnificent animal tossed its head, glad to be free, and trotted off into the park.

"What'll happen to the bits of wire left on it?" Ferocity wanted to know as he watched it disappear. "Won't that cause problems?"

"He'll lose his antlers and grow a new pair," Ginger told him. "It'll only be a mild inconvenience in the short term."

They made their way back as the Auster taxied up to the steps in front of the chateau and Algy jumped down. After the noisy reception, Ginger hung back to talk to him alone while the others piled indoors with Henry.

"What made you pull up?" he wanted to know. "Was it the stag?"

Algy nodded. "It saved my bacon," he admitted. "I just caught a glimpse of it and was wary it might bound into my path at first. Then I saw what had happened to it and I found somewhere safer to land. This is getting altogether too dangerous for my liking!" he exclaimed with feeling.

"You're not the only one!" agreed Ginger fervently and proceeded to bring Algy up to date with what had happened to him.

"So you think there may be something fishy about the count's death?" concluded Algy.

"There's something not right," asserted Ginger. "There are a lot of questions to be answered. Did Marcel come up with any information?"

Algy nodded. "I'll tell you after dinner," he murmured as they reached the hall, where Robert was about to take Taffy's luggage up to the bedroom.


	9. An unexpected development

**Chapter 9**

**An Unexpected Development**

Dinner was a riotous occasion. Henry's cousin had kept a good cellar, which fortunately had been preserved despite the fire and Henry decided to push the boat out for his former colleagues, as befitted the new holder of the title. The wine flowed freely and the years slipped away as the comrades reverted to the carefree pilots they had been during the Battle of Britain. Afterwards, Henry sat at the piano and accompanied the pairs while Ginger and Algy tried to avoid Tex and Taffy as they danced a fox-trot round the drawing room while Ferocity beat time.

"Bertie would be green with envy if he knew what he was missing," gasped Ginger as he subsided onto the sofa in front of the fire Algy collapsed beside him, panting and complaining he was not as young as he used to be.

"Your formation flying was always dodgy, look you, Tex!" grumbled Taffy as he and the American collided with one of the chairs and made an ignominious landing on the hearth rug at Ginger's feet.

"You're a fine one to talk!" scoffed Ginger, looking down at the Welshman. "You've managed to prang going round the room!"

They all burst into gales of laughter. Tex and Taffy looked at each other and grabbed Ginger's ankles. In a trice they divested him of his shoes and picked him up bodily.

Despite his protests his erstwhile comrades carried him struggling to the far end of the drawing room where the fireplace had not been lit. There his socks were liberally covered in soot scraped from the chimney piece. Accepting the inevitable, Ginger swung his feet up and walked up the wall. Unlike the Mess, however, the chateau's ceilings were high and not even the combined efforts of Henry, Algy, Ferocity, Tex and Taffy could make him reach. The ungainly pyramid swayed and staggered.

"Watch out!" cried Ginger as they teetered unsteadily across the room.

The struggling bodies crashed into the wall beside the fireplace. The panelling juddered, then swung on a pivot and deposited them in a dark space behind the opening before slamming shut again.

Suddenly sober, they picked themselves up. Algy tried to feel the back of the panelling to find the catch to release them from their prison, but the wall was smooth.

Ginger felt in his pocket for his lighter. He flicked it and a small yellow flame illuminated the gloom. They appeared to be in a narrow corridor, but beyond the faint glimmer, it was hard to distinguish any details.

With the aid of the feeble glow Ginger and Algy examined the back of the panelling. There was no mechanism they could find to open it again.

"It looks as though the only way out is along the tunnel," concluded Ginger eventually.

"At least there is a faint draught," commented Algy as the light flickered. "That must mean that there's an opening at the end, somewhere."

"Did you know about this, Henry?" asked Ginger as they carefully inched their way forward.

"I had no idea," confessed Henry. "I never even suspected any hidden compartments or tunnels."

It was as well they had some light because suddenly Ginger, who was in the lead, stopped. The others crowded behind him.

"There's a flight of steps leading down," he warned. "They look a bit uneven and damp, so watch your step."

Keeping to the side, where they could use the rough wall to steady their progress, they descended into the bowels of the chateau. The air was chill and water dripped from the roof of the cavern when they reached the bottom. As the drops splashed into puddles on the slimy floor, the sound echoed eerily under the vaulted roof. Ginger wished he had been able to replace his shoes. His socks were sodden and every step he took squelched.

The draught was stronger, making the lighter flame flicker. The shadows moved along the walls in disconcerting fashion, as if insubstantial armies were creeping up on them. Taffy clutched at Henry's arm.

"Let's get a move on," he urged. "This tunnel is giving me the creeps."

The party edged forward. Suddenly Ginger stopped and flicked the lighter off.

"What did you do that for?" hissed Taffy as they were plunged into darkness.

"I can see a faint light ahead," whispered Ginger. "We must be coming out of the tunnel."

As their eyes grew accustomed to the blackness, they perceived there was a lightening of the gloom in the distance. The darkness grew greyer as they advanced and they could discern that there was a bend in the tunnel. What lay ahead they could not make out, but the air was much fresher now, so they surmised that the tunnel opened out directly into the grounds of the chateau just ahead.

Proceeding cautiously, they edged forward. When they rounded the corner, the tunnel entrance was clearly outlined in the bright moonlight that made its way through the branches of the low shrubs that concealed the opening.

Algy stooped, then pushed his way through and emerged into the park. The tunnel was near to the steps leading up to the main entrance of the chateau. The Auster was tied down just a few yards away. He looked back as the others emerged one by one. The entrance was well hidden by shrubs. If he had not known it was there, he would never have suspected its existence, he realised.

Ginger joined him. "I wonder if this is where our mystery intruder came from," the young man mused. "It would bring him out just about where I spotted him." He limped up the steps. "Come on, everybody," he urged. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough of traipsing around in dark places for tonight. Besides," he added plaintively, "I want my shoes back."

They all trooped into the hall just as Robert came out of the drawing room with the coffee tray. His jaw dropped when he saw the party, but he said nothing. Ginger caught sight of his own reflection in a mirror and understood why Robert had nearly dropped the tray. His hair was festooned with cobwebs and he had streaks of dirt on his face. The others were in a similar state, he realised. Looking back, he could see he had left a trail of dirty damp footprints across the marble of the hall.

"I'm going up to my room to change my socks," he announced, making for the staircase.

"I'll bring your shoes up to you," offered Algy on his way back into the drawing room. "Then we can have a chat about what I did while I was in Paris."

Ginger looked puzzled for a moment, but following Algy's eyes, he understood the reason for the cryptic nature of Algy's sentence. Robert was still standing in the shadows by the door to the servants' quarters.

Ginger nodded and bounded up the steps two at a time. The marble was cold under his feet and his clammy socks intensified the chill. He stopped half way up the stairs to remove the offending garments and was thus an unsuspected witness to Robert's next actions.

As Ginger watched, the manservant walked swiftly across the hall and twisted one of the wall brackets that flanked a pier glass. The mirror swung away from the wall and Ginger saw him remove something from the cavity that was revealed by the secret door. Without revealing his presence, Ginger could not get a clear view of what was in the butler's hand, but it looked like a bottle. Robert then crossed out of Ginger's view, but the sound of the swing door closing suggested he had gone back to the servants' quarters.

Ginger remained sitting on the stairs for a moment or two while he pondered what he had seen. There could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Robert's actions, he told himself. Perhaps the secret compartment held a dumb waiter to assist in serving the food. That would account for the bottle. But if it was a dumb waiter, he reasoned, it would surely link with the kitchen, so why had Robert taken the container back through the green baize door? Surely it would have been simpler just to lower it to the basement where the kitchen was situated. In fact, thought Ginger, why take it out of the lift at all? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was a secret cupboard and not a dumb waiter.

He was just about to go down and take a look when Algy came out of the drawing room and crossed the hall. He was swinging Ginger's shoes from his hand by their laces. Ginger saw Robert come into view carrying a tray of coffee, headed for the drawing room. Whether Algy swung the shoes too vigorously and the laces slipped through his fingers or whether centrifugal force caused the laces to break, Ginger could not tell, but the shoes flew out of Algy's hand and knocked the tray from Robert's grip. The crash of china and silverware hitting the marble floor brought the others from the drawing room.

Ginger watched unseen as Henry and his guests surrounded the butler, wanting to know what was going on. He was sure Robert was annoyed by the accident, but the servant concealed it beneath his polished manner. The airmen returned to the drawing room, except for Algy who retrieved Ginger's foot-ware from the wreckage and stood for a moment talking to Robert. When Algy continued on his way to the staircase, the servant quickly cleared away the debris before he turned on his heel and returned the way he had come. Ginger heard the door of the servants' quarters swing shut and saw Algy starting to mount the stairs. He stood up and Algy spotted him at once.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Algy wanted to know. "I thought you'd gone to your room."

Ginger accepted his shoes from Algy and slipped them on. As they climbed the stairs he recounted what he had seen. "And why was Robert bringing a coffee tray back to the drawing room when he had been taking one away when we came back into the house?" he concluded.

"Maybe the first one was cold?" suggested Algy. "Perhaps he had made some fresh."

"Perhaps," murmured Ginger, unconvinced. "I can't help feeling there is something strange about this place, though."

"Curiouser and curiouser," remarked Algy as they reached Ginger's door. "Secret tunnels, hidden cupboards, mysterious bottles and a furtive stranger. This is turning out to be quite a holiday."


	10. A council of war

**Chapter 10**

**A Council of War**

"So what did Marcel have to say?" asked Ginger when he and Algy were settled in his bedroom.

"Whoever used the cold chisel wore gloves," answered Algy. "Very convenient if they didn't want to be identified."

"And very inconvenient for us," observed Ginger bitterly.

"They did manage to get a clear set of dabs off the Auster, though," went on Algy to Ginger's surprise. "Three fingers of a right hand, on the landing gear strut up near the door. Not mine and unless you've got a scar running across the tip of your middle finger …?" Ginger shook his head and held up his right hand, as Algy continued, "I suspect not yours, either. Marcel is checking them against French records. In case they are Smyth's he sent a copy to London for comparison. Marcel hadn't found a match or heard from Scotland Yard when I decided I'd better get back. I didn't fancy making a night landing," concluded Algy.

"Good thing, too, in the circumstances," murmured Ginger wryly. "You nearly splattered the Auster all over Normandy."

"What about you?" retorted Algy. "You wrote Henry's bike off."

"Ha ha," responded Ginger mirthlessly. "The only reason my bike decided to mount a kamikaze attack on Taffy's car was because the brakes failed when I started to come down the hill. They were fine when I checked them before I set off from the chateau. I can only conclude that someone got at them while it was parked outside the church. That's the only time it was out of my sight. I won't be able to confirm it was sabotage, though, until I've examined the cables and seen if they've been cut rather than rusted through."

"You think the priest did it?" queried Algy.

Ginger pulled a wry face. "I'd hate to think a man of the cloth was inclined to put someone's life at risk like that, especially a stranger's, but he certainly clammed up and left sharpish when I mentioned I'd met Henry during the war. I'd put money on it being that waiter – if looks could kill I would have died on the spot. He had a scar that he could have acquired during the war."

"You think this might be tied up with settling old scores?" suggested Algy.

"I don't know," confessed Ginger. "I'm completely in the dark. If it is, I don't know why anybody should want to settle my score."

"Someone with a guilty conscience who thought you were getting too close to discovering the truth about dark deeds?" mused Algy.

"What dark deeds?" asked Ginger plaintively. "All we've got so far is a suspicious number of accidents; a fire that could well have started accidentally, a piece of masonry that fell off a seventeenth century building – that could have happened at any time – and a dilapidated bicycle whose brakes failed when they were applied going down a steep hill. Hardly conclusive evidence for skulduggery," he concluded with a sigh. "Besides," he added with inescapable logic, "how did they know I was suspicious? Before the bike incident, the other two events could easily have been accidents. It's a bit much to try to dispose of somebody on the off chance."

"What about the wire across the park?" reminded Algy. "That could hardly be explained away as an accident."

Ginger nodded. "I must admit, that breaks the pattern," he confessed. "Does that mean there is more than one person involved?" he surmised. "Someone who got impatient and acted on his own initiative, reverting to Resistance tactics?"

"Without approval from whoever is in charge?" queried Algy.

Ginger looked at him askance. "Do you think there's an organised ring going round bumping people off?" he asked astounded.

"I was just thinking about the _réseaux_ during the war," replied Algy. "You said yourself 'Resistance tactics'. They were organised in cells with a controller."

"The priest hinted at old scores being settled," mused Ginger. "Or at least he suggested that there were some people who hadn't done their duty, which I take to mean they had sympathised with the Nazis and done nothing to help the war effort."

"Maybe it wasn't so much sympathy as trying to save their skins," countered Algy. "It's all very well for us to pontificate, but we've never been invaded and had to live under Occupation. It's a very different matter when you are in constant fear of your life."

"I suppose you're right," admitted Ginger. "I can't help feeling there was something fishy about the Count's death. Perhaps the priest thought I was digging a bit too deep and feared I might unearth something. He might have had a word with Scarface at the café to cut the brakes. It's a bit hit and miss, though," he conceded. "I mean, even though he probably knew about the slope down to the gates, he couldn't be sure that Taffy would be arriving at that moment to administer the coup de grace. It's not as though there is a lot of traffic on that road."

"No," murmured Algy, "but Robert was in town with the limousine."

Ginger looked at him wide-eyed. "You mean that if I hadn't baled out and Taffy hadn't been there he might have run me down?" he exclaimed in shocked tones.

Algy looked at him reflectively. "I'm sure he could have made it look like an accident."

Ginger stared back askance. "What, with Ferocity and Tex in the back?"

"What could they have proved if he'd done it skilfully enough?" asked Algy. "You said yourself the bike was out of control."

Ginger paused, acknowledging Algy was right. "It would be his word against theirs," he admitted eventually.

"There's a lot more to this than meets the eye," opined Algy. "Quite apart from the wire in the park, there are too many accidents for them all to be coincidences," he concluded.

Ginger nodded and stifled a yawn. Algy stood up and told him to turn in. "We'll have a look for some more secret passages in the morning," he suggested, pausing at the door of the bedroom, "including investigating that secret cupboard in the hall."

"I'm ready for bed," admitted Ginger, "but not until I've had a good soak in the tub," he continued. "I shouldn't think anybody has been down that tunnel we found for years."

Algy stepped back into the room and closed the door softly behind him. "You're wrong," he told his companion quietly, "someone has been down there recently."

Ginger looked up sharply, all thought of sleep banished. "What makes you say that?"

Algy put his hand in his pocket and drew it out. He opened his fingers and extended his palm to Ginger. Lying in the centre was a cigarette butt.

"I picked this up near the exit," said Algy softly.

Ginger met his eyes. "It's quite fresh," he remarked quietly.

Algy nodded. "It can't have been there very long," he confirmed. "It isn't my brand and nobody else in our party smokes," he observed, "so the question is, who dropped it?"

"I haven't seen Robert smoking," offered Ginger.

"Nor have I," admitted Algy, "but I can't say I've been observing him closely in that respect." He sniffed the remnants of the cigarette. "French tobacco," he opined. "Not exactly uncommon, so not much to go on."

"Of course," suggested Ginger, "it could have been the mysterious intruder who tried to get at the Auster. The chap with the scar on his fingertip. He might have had a smoke while he was waiting for it to get light enough to see what he was doing."

Algy nodded. "That's possible," he acknowledged. "It was lying just inside the entrance to the tunnel. Anybody standing there would have been able to see out through the bushes but couldn't have been seen by anybody passing by. A pity Marcel wasn't able to give us any more information on the fingerprints."

"When Marcel does contact you, ask him for a translation of the results of the autopsy on the Count," requested Ginger reflectively.

Algy eyed him curiously. "What for?" he wanted to know. "I shouldn't think there was much left to examine."

"Exactly," agreed Ginger. "I want to know what, if anything, they could find out about the actual cause of death, how they identified the body and whether they were 100 certain it was the Count."

"What put that idea in your head?" asked Algy sceptically. "The lawyers surely wouldn't have let Henry inherit if there was any doubt."

Ginger shook his head. "There's something about this that puzzles me," he confessed. "I can't put my finger on what it is, but there's something odd." He passed his hand over his forehead wearily. "Why did the Count change his habits in the weeks before his death? Was he prevented from going to confession? Did somebody keep him prisoner before he was set on fire? Did somebody kill him and try to dispose of the evidence by setting the body on fire? If so, why? Biggles always says the answer lies in the motive."

Algy put the cigarette stub back in his pocket. "Get some rest," he advised, heading for the door. "Sleep on it and something might come to you in the morning."


	11. A disturbed night

**Chapter 11**

**A Disturbed Night**

When Algy had gone, Ginger picked up his wash bag and towel and headed for the bathroom at the end of the corridor. He was tired, but he could not rest; his mind kept churning over the thoughts he had expressed to his colleague. Something was nagging at his subconscious, something he had seen or heard, but not realised the significance of, held the key to unlock the mystery, he felt sure.

When the ancient plumbing had finally filled the marble bath to a decent level, he stripped off and slid into the water gratefully, glad to remove the grime of the tunnel. As he relaxed in the warmth, he ran the events of the day through his memory.

Finding that nothing had resolved itself despite his best efforts, he gave up and clambered out, hastily wrapping himself in a towel because the air was chill and the fireplace that occupied one wall had not been laid. As he bent over to release the water which gurgled noisily down the plug hole, he had the strangest sensation of being watched. He froze, feeling a shiver run up his spine which had nothing to do with the temperature in the room or his half-naked state. He glanced up and saw a shadowy movement in the mirror on the chimney breast. Swift as a flash, he whirled round, but the room was empty. Feeling foolish, Ginger looked at the cupboard opposite the mirror. The door was slightly ajar. His heart in his mouth, he jerked it open and stepped back. The sight which presented itself almost made him laugh with relief. The shelves inside were bare.

Telling himself his nerves were shot and what he had seen was probably the cupboard door swinging slightly under its own weight, he went back to his room. Outside the door, suddenly cautious, he hesitated, listening intently. His senses alert, he flung the door open and leapt inside. There, in the Louis XV armchair near the window, sat a pale-faced Taffy, tapping his fingers nervously on the arm.

"What on earth are you doing here?" exclaimed Ginger incredulously, embarrassed by his melodramatic entrance.

Taffy got up with alacrity and told him to shut the door. "This place is haunted, look you!" he blurted with the full weight of his Celtic ancestry behind the words. "Your room was nearest and I didn't want to be alone with … _it_!"

Ginger closed the door and crossed the room. "What do you mean?" he asked, knowing Taffy was superstitious, but remembering his own recent experience in the bathroom.

Taffy poured out his story. He had been getting ready for bed, he explained, when he suddenly felt he was being watched. He had tried to ignore it, then out of the corner of his eye, he had caught a glimpse of something dark and shadowy behind the doors of the built-in wardrobe which were slightly ajar.

The hairs stood up on the back of Ginger's neck. "What did you do?" he asked breathlessly.

"Do?" echoed Taffy, his voice almost breaking. "What did you think I did? I thought I was imagining things. I looked away and then looked back. It was still there! Then it disappeared! It seemed just to melt into the cupboard! Then I ran down here to talk to you – and you weren't here!" he added accusingly. "But I decided to stay because I didn't fancy going back to my own room."

"When was this?" asked Ginger curiously.

"About five minutes ago," estimated Taffy. "I didn't time myself," he remarked sarcastically, "but I must have broken the all-comers sprint record dashing down that corridor."

"You didn't go up to the cupboard and examine it?" queried Ginger.

Taffy looked at him as if he were mad. "You must be joking!" he exclaimed, appalled at the suggestion. "It could have been anything; a horrible apparition, a ghost, a zombie." He shuddered. "I don't mind dodging bullets, look you," he continued, "you know where you are with flesh and blood Germans shooting at you, but this …" he broke off in horror.

Ginger regarded the Welshman speculatively. "Would it interest you to know I've just had a similar experience at the far end of the corridor?" he asked.

Taffy's eyes widened. "Then you do believe me?" he blurted.

"Up to a point," replied Ginger. "I believe there was somebody spying on you. I also think there's a false back on the cupboards and a passage running through the walls between the rooms. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but I noticed there were marks in the dust on the shelves in the bathroom cupboard. Whatever it was, it wasn't a spook," he added grimly as he recounted his experience in the bathroom. "Whoever it was would just about have had time to get there after you scared him off," he concluded.

Taffy laughed nervously. "That's a comfort," he intoned ironically. "Instead of a ghost, there's a flesh and blood person creeping about with access to all the rooms! Secret passages! I shan't rest until I'm out of this place! We could all be murdered in our beds!"

Ginger said nothing. The same thought had occurred to him. "We can't do anything tonight," he observed. "First thing tomorrow, I suggest we all make an examination of all the cupboards, starting with the one in your room and the one in the bathroom. Thank goodness there isn't one in here. In the meantime, you're welcome to sleep in here and I'll have your room," he offered.

Taffy looked dubious. "Don't you think it would be better to stick together?" he asked anxiously.

Ginger considered for a moment. "Perhaps you're right," he conceded. He took a blanket off his bed and tossed it to Taffy. "I hope you'll be comfortable on the sofa," he commented pointedly.

Taffy caught the cloth and draped it around himself. "Believe you me, boyo," he exclaimed with feeling as he settled down for the night, "anywhere is better than sleeping in a room where something might come out of the woodwork at any time!"


	12. On the trail

**Chapter 12**

**On The Trail**

After a disturbed night, Ginger and Taffy went down to breakfast together. Algy was already there, helping himself to bacon and eggs from the chafing dishes.

"Where's Henry?" asked Ginger as he joined Algy at the sideboard.

"He hasn't come down yet," murmured Algy as he added a helping of devilled kidneys. "And there's no sign of Tex and Ferocity, either."

"Perhaps they had visitors last night as well," broke in Taffy as he dug into the kedgeree.

Algy looked at him in surprise. "Visitors?" he queried.

Ginger made a sign to Taffy to be quiet. "We'll tell you all about it after breakfast," he promised, nodding towards the green baize door where he expected Robert to emerge at any moment. "When we are outside."

Algy took his place and sat down. "I see," he commented thoughtfully. "Eventful night, was it?" he asked cryptically.

"You could say that," agreed Ginger. "What about you?"

"Nothing," reported Algy. "I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow."

Further meaningful conversation was cut short by the appearance of Robert with a tray of coffee and they finished their breakfast in companionable silence.

When Henry and the others had not joined them before the end of the meal, Ginger and Algy exchanged glances. Algy looked at his watch. It was nearly nine o'clock. He hesitated, wondering what would be the best course of action to pursue.

"Let's go for a walk," suggested Ginger, as if reading his mind. "I could do with some exercise. I expect Henry and the others are having a lie-in."

They pushed their chairs back and Robert came forward to clear the table. Ginger opened the french windows that led onto the terrace and stepped through. The others followed him as he headed for the steps leading to the main entrance.

"Have you got anywhere particular in mind?" asked Algy as they made their way into the park.

"Only to get out of earshot," replied Ginger sombrely when they were in the open. With the aid of Taffy's lurid interjections, he proceeded to tell Algy about the previous night's events.

"It certainly sounds like a secret passage," agreed Algy when Ginger had finished his tale. "Probably the best thing would be to get hold of Henry, Tex and Ferocity then do the rounds of all the rooms, checking the cupboards, as you suggest."

Taffy looked dubious. "Pity I haven't got a couple of Brownings," he lamented. "I'd feel a lot happier looking through the sights of those babies."

Algy tapped his hip pocket. "I've brought a revolver," he admitted. When Ginger looked at him askance, he continued, "well, I did say we should be prepared," he smiled.

"No wonder you wanted Marcel there to smooth the way through customs!" exclaimed Ginger.

"Better safe than sorry," averred Algy sagely. "Let's find the others."

They made their way indoors. There was no one in the breakfast room, so they went upstairs to the master bedroom overlooking the entrance to the chateau where Henry had been sleeping.

Algy pushed open the door. The bed covers were thrown back and the sheets dragged on the floor. A bedside lamp lay on its side. The Aubusson rug was scuffed and folded back on itself, wedging open the door of the built-in cupboard.

The three airmen exchanged glances. "It looks as though there's been a bit of a struggle, isn't there?" suggested Taffy.

Ginger nodded slowly, taking in the scene.

Algy bent down to examine the cupboard. The fringe of the rug had jammed into a crack at the bottom between the back boards and the shelving. Algy pushed the back and felt it give.

"Quick," he told the others, "give me a hand. The back's loose. Let's see if we can open it."

Ginger and Taffy joined him. Between them they managed to push the boards back a couple of inches. Algy felt the edges of the board. "Got it!" he exclaimed as his fingers felt a catch. With a well-oiled click, the shelves attached to the back swung open like a door, revealing a dark recess.

"Bingo!" exclaimed Ginger softly. "Have you got a torch in that boy scout kit you brought with you?" he asked Algy teasingly.

In reply Algy put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a lighter. "Much more convenient and less likely to provoke comment," he retorted with a smile.

"After you, then," offered Ginger, indicating the gaping hole in the wall.

Algy stepped into the cavity and flicked on the lighter.

"What can you see?" asked Ginger.

"It's a long tunnel between the walls," Algy told him. "There's stonework on one side and panelling on the other. It stretches left and right. I can't tell you any more unless we follow it."

Taffy licked his lips nervously. "You're not going in there, are you?" he asked querulously. "There could be anything at the end."

"Ghouls and ghosts?" scoffed Algy. "I don't think so. Whoever's been using this is flesh and blood, Taffy." He paused. "Of course, Ginger and I can go and leave you here …"

"On my own?" exclaimed Taffy. "Not likely! If you're going, I'm coming with you!" he averred fiercely.

"Come on then," urged Ginger as he stepped into the darkness. "Which way, Algy?"

Algy thought for a moment. "Right, I think," he suggested. "The way to your room and the bathroom. We can check that the passage runs along there and where it goes to afterwards."

So saying he relit his lighter and, holding it above his head, started in the direction he had indicated. Ginger followed.

Taffy hesitated a moment outside the opening then leapt inside and caught them up.

For a while they made good progress. At intervals in the panelling Algy noticed sliding hatches. Most of them were dusty and clearly had not been opened in a long time. A couple, however, showed marks in the dust. Algy slid the first one open.

"Take a look," he invited.

Ginger stepped up to the eyehole revealed and motioned Taffy to join him. "Recognise that?" he breathed.

Taffy looked through the spy-hole. "It's my room!" he exclaimed.

Ginger examined the mechanism at the side and operated the latch. The door of the built in cupboard swung open.

"There's your ghost," he mocked Taffy as he closed the opening.

"Well I'm blowed!" exclaimed Taffy. "You were right."

The next spy-hole looked onto the bathroom. Ginger shook his head. "It beats me why some people felt they had to build these things," he mused.

"Bathrooms?" queried Algy innocently, deliberately misunderstanding.

"You know what I mean!" ejaculated Ginger, exasperated. "Why did people feel the need to spy on everybody?"

"When this chateau was built, I suspect that treachery was rife," speculated Algy. "Nobody could afford to trust anybody. Anyway," he added, " I don't suppose this was a bathroom when the passage was built. Hygiene is a relatively new thing."

"But the bedrooms would have been bedrooms," objected Taffy, "I mean …" he fell silent as he thought about the implications.

"Let's get cracking," suggested Ginger, "and see where we end up."

"Good idea," agreed Algy, striding forward.

As they progressed they realised they were venturing into the wing which had suffered fire damage. Their progress became more difficult and in places the panelling had collapsed, leaving them to scramble over the debris. Suddenly Algy came to a halt.

"What is it?" asked Ginger and Taffy in unison.

"It looks as though we've come to the end," replied Algy quietly. He held the lighter in front of him. "There seem to be some steps going down." He took a tentative step onto the first tread.

"I think it will be alright," he advised them, "but just watch your step."

Carefully they descended the precipitous staircase, which was in fact little more than a ladder. At the bottom they halted to take stock.

"You know," opined Algy, "I think we're below ground here."

"It's certainly damp enough," agreed Ginger, looking at the moisture running down the walls glistening in the flickering light of the small flame.

"The tunnel splits," observed Algy. "One branch goes back more or less parallel with the one we came along and the other one goes on ahead. Which one shall we follow?"

"I vote for going ahead," decided Ginger. "What do you think, Taffy?"

The Welshman agreed. "The sooner I'm in the open air, the better," he opined. "My forebears might have been miners, look you, but I don't like being underground."

Ginger nodded vigorously. "I'm with you one hundred percent on that," he asserted. "Give me the open air and blue skies any day!"

"Then stop gossiping and let's get moving," suggested Algy with asperity.

Suiting the action to the word, he moved forward cautiously. The tunnel sloped gradually downwards for some distance. Ginger reckoned they must be well outside the chateau, judging by the distance travelled when Algy stopped again.

"What is it this time?" asked Ginger.

"There seems to have been a cave-in at some time," said Algy. "It looks fairly recent, judging by the colour of the soil," he added on investigation.

"Does that mean we have to go back?" asked Taffy.

"Wait a minute," advised Algy. "I need to have a better look." So saying, he climbed onto the bottom of the pile of detritus and examined the fall with the aid of the lighter.

"It looks as though there is a gap at the top," he said eventually. "Do you think you could get through there, Ginger?"

The young man looked at the space between the tunnel roof and the debris. "It's a bit tight," he opined, "but I'll have a go."

"Take care!" exclaimed Taffy as Ginger started to make his way up the slope of the landslide, sending showers of loose earth down from time to time.

When Ginger reached the top of the pile of earth and rubble he paused. "Let me have the lighter a moment, Algy," he requested. With the aid of the light, he looked through the narrow gap. "I'm pretty sure I can do it," he decided, handing the lighter back. "The tunnel seems to carry on the other side of the collapse."

"You'd better have the lighter," suggested Algy, to Taffy's dismay.

"I've got some matches," declined Ginger. "Hopefully they'll last until I reach the exit. Stay here; I'll come back to you when I know where it comes out."

With that, he wriggled through the narrow opening and slithered down the pile of debris at the other side.

"I'll give you half an hour!" cried Algy as Ginger's feet disappeared through the gap. A muffled acknowledgement came from the other side of the debris.

Algy doused the lighter. When Taffy protested, Algy pointed out that there was no point in wasting petrol until Ginger got back.

"Don't you think we should enlarge the opening?" suggested Taffy. "I mean, it would make sense to be able to go after Ginger, wouldn't it? Suppose he got hurt?"

Algy hesitated. "I said we'd give him half an hour," he stated. "If he's not back by then, we'll try and move some of the rubble so we can get through and follow him."

Somewhat mollified by this decision, Taffy sat down on a piece of masonry to wait with what patience he could muster in the chilly dampness.


	13. Surprises for Ginger

**Chapter 13**

**Surprises For Ginger**

When he scrambled through the opening and slid down the other side of the collapsed tunnel, Ginger felt some trepidation at leaving the others behind. He had no idea of what was ahead. Regaining his feet, he groped in his pocket for the box of matches. Realising that they would not last long, he ripped off strips from the tail of his shirt to act as a torch. He struck the first match and applied it to the cotton. When the material flared, he could see for the first time that the tunnel he was in started to slope upwards. Encouraged by this sign that the entrance may not be far ahead, Ginger started forward. The uneven nature of the ground, however, soon caused him to slow down. This was no time, he reminded himself, to sprain an ankle and put himself hors de combat.

How long he stumbled onwards, climbing all the while, he had no idea. He seemed to lose all sense of time. He had been in this tunnel for ever, he felt.

Eventually, however, he found his way blocked by a wooden panel. There was no obvious handle, but he reasoned that there must be a way of opening it or there would be no point in constructing the tunnel, so he proceeded to run his hands over the rough planking. As he touched what he thought was a raised knot in the wood, the door gave silently. Cautiously, Ginger pushed it open. It swung as though on well oiled hinges.

Ginger hesitated. There was no sound to break the silence. He could see a glimmer of light beyond the opening, so he blew out the scrap of shirt and stamped out the smouldering remains. Automatically, he picked it up and put it in his pocket, having made sure it was completely out.

One step at a time, Ginger advanced, his senses alert for danger. The crack of light seemed to be coming from a door at the side of a corridor beyond a railed enclosure. The floor underfoot was cobbled. He smelled the familiar odour of ammonia and recognition flooded in. He was in the stables. The tunnel ended in a loose box near where he had borrowed the bicycle for his trip into town. The low ambient light was due to the filth on the small high windows, but the door ahead and to his left in the corridor led to the courtyard outside and was letting in rays of sunshine via its ill-fitting jamb. Motes of dust danced in the rays which were so bright in contrast to the gloom from which he had come that they hurt his eyes.

Ginger was about to move forward and open the door when the sound of voices reached him. In a panic, he looked about for a hiding place. He thought about going back into the tunnel, but when he turned round, the door had swung shut and he had no time to find the catch that opened it. If the speakers were of a mind to travel that way, supposing they did not know of the collapse, he would have nowhere to hide anyway, he reasoned. Frantically, Ginger cast around for somewhere that would offer cover. At the far end of the corridor was a rickety ladder leading to the hayloft. Casting caution to the winds, he sprinted along the corridor and went up the ladder like a lamplighter. The hay was musty and he had a moment's anxiety when the last rung sagged ominously, but it was the work of a moment to burrow into the mouldy fodder.

Ginger's heart leapt into his mouth as a rat scurried out of his hiding place, but the rodent scampered up onto a beam and disappeared into the darkness. Beneath him, the door opened and a quartet of men entered.

To his surprise, Ginger recognised Tex and Ferocity among the group. Tex was protesting loudly, but Ferocity was silent, his face eloquent of rage at their treatment.

"_Taisez-vous_!" the thickset man who was holding Tex by the arm instructed him, shaking him vigorously into silence.

"_Ta gueule_!"1 growled the second man rudely, scowling at Tex. Ginger recognised him as the scar-faced waiter from the café by the church. The barrel of a Luger pistol in his right hand gleamed in the dim light.

Tex looked blank, but kept his mouth closed. The import of the words was clear enough. The scar-faced man opened the panel in the end loose box and pushed the captives through. Ginger watched as the door was closed behind them, considering what he should do.

The men must be unaware that the tunnel had caved in, he reasoned, because he had not seen any side turnings on the journey to the stables. Therefore, they must return the way they had come. He looked at his watch. He had been away nearly half an hour. Fervently he prayed that Algy and Taffy would hear the party coming down the tunnel and not collide with them if they had decided to follow him.

Several anxious minutes passed before he heard the captors returning with their prisoners.

The door opened and the scar-faced man emerged to the accompaniment of a string of French profanities. His companion looked grim but Ferocity and Tex seemed rather cheered by the setback.

Ginger, listening from his perch in the hayloft gathered that the fall had happened in the last few days and the Frenchmen had been intending to put Tex and Ferocity in the dungeon. He assumed that Henry would also be there, wherever it was. Ginger reasoned that the dungeon must be somewhere at the other end of the tunnel since they had not known that the stables branch was blocked.

The party had stopped more or less under the hoist which allowed bales of hay to be raised into the loft. Ginger eyed it speculatively, calculating the probability of success if he could drop onto the group. At that moment, Tex looked up and saw him.

Before Tex could involuntarily betray him, Ginger made up his mind in an instant and grabbed the rope, intending to swing down and take the Frenchmen by surprise. The hemp, however, was rotten and snapped as soon as it was called upon to bear his weight.

Seeing what was about to happen, Tex pushed his captor against the scar-faced man as Ginger descended rather more precipitously than he had intended into the fray. The gun went off and Ginger felt the wind of the bullet as it whistled past his cheek.

He landed on the thickset Frenchman and knocked the breath out of him. The man with the scar was quick-thinking enough to scramble through the door as Tex and Ferocity both leapt on their recumbent erstwhile captor and make his getaway.

"Take his belt off and tie him up," instructed Ginger as he tried to recover his breath. "I'll know where to find the other one. He's a waiter at the café in the square."

Just as Ferocity and Tex had the winded Frenchman trussed up like a chicken, the panel in the wall opened. Algy stepped through, blinking, closely followed by Taffy.

"Well," he drawled, seeing the group, "you do seem to be having fun. And here was I worrying you might have got into trouble!"

1 Shut your face!


	14. What happened to the others

**Chapter 14**

**What Happened To The Others**

After Henry had retired for the night, he lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. He tried reading, but remained wide awake. He closed the book with a snap and put it on his bedside table. When he switched off the light, the room was plunged into darkness. The shutters were closed and there was only the barest glimmer of moonlight seeping through the louvers. Eventually, tiredness took its toll and his eyes began to close. He seemed to have barely dropped off when a sound brought him to his senses again. Sleepily he tried to identify it. Was it a creaking floorboard? A door? His eyes were now adjusted to the gloom so he was able to examine his bedroom in the feeble grey light of dawn. Nothing appeared to be out of place; there was nothing he could see that would account for the noise that had disturbed him. He closed his eyes again and tried to doze. Suddenly he woke up, his senses on full alert, convinced that he was being watched. He felt his body go cold. He had experienced this sensation many times during the war and each time, a Hun had got on his tail.

He opened his eyes and surveyed the room again. There was nothing to account for his sixth sense, but he had learned not to ignore it. Cautiously he drew the bedcovers back and slid his legs out of bed. Nothing happened. Moving slowly, he pulled his dressing gown to him and slipped it on. There was a slight sound as the matches he had left in his pocket after sealing some correspondence rattled against each other. Henry froze. Once again his eyes swept the room.

A movement against the wall attracted his attention. A dark shadow was creeping towards his bed. With a bound, Henry leaped off the bed and closed with the figure. There was a muffled curse as his fingers grasped the dark material of the man's clothing. Locked together, they swayed into the room. The bedside table overturned with a crash, shattering the lamp on the floor. The brief struggle ended when the intruder forced a sweet smelling cloth over Henry's nose. Struggling for breath, Henry felt his limbs grow heavy. He recognised the smell; ether. His last thoughts were of visits to the dentist as his legs buckled and he sank to the floor.

A second person stepped into the room through the concealed entrance behind the built-in wardrobe and bent over Henry. When he was sure the Englishman was unconscious, he motioned to his companion to help lift their captive.

With an effort they dragged Henry over the carpet and into the opening. It was no easy matter to squeeze him through the aperture and along the narrow passageway. One at his head and the other at his feet, they half-carried, half-dragged their burden until they reached a blank wall. The leader pressed a lever recessed into the stonework. A door swung open to reveal the spiral staircase leading up into the turret. They paused to gather their breath before ascending, as Henry had put on weight since he had resumed his academic career.

Not without some difficulty they manoeuvred Henry's limp body around the spiral and emerged onto the landing at the top. Another concealed doorway lead to a small, windowless chamber parallel to the roof. They bundled Henry's lifeless body into the space and closed the door before hastening down the stairs.

As they started down the stone steps, they suddenly became aware of voices. Like well-trained commandos they arranged themselves either side of the narrow staircase to meet the ascending visitors who were speaking English, their shoes clattering on the stones. The layout of the chateau meant that they had the advantage of the direction of the spiral against any invaders. The shadows of two approaching men loomed up; one tall, the other short.

The black-clad kidnappers exchanged glances. With an imperceptible nod, they braced themselves for action. The leaner of the two drew out a pistol.

Surprise was complete. Tex and Ferocity, who for a bet had decided to watch the dawn rise from the roof, rounded the bend in the staircase to be confronted with two assailants. Menaced by the barrel of the pistol, they had no time to react. They swiftly found their arms pinned behind their backs and their faces against the rough stonework of the wall.

"What the .." sputtered Ferocity when he found his voice.

"Take your hands off me!" ground out Tex, struggling against the vice-like grip of his captor.

"_Silence_!" hissed the stouter of the pair. His companion, a surly, scar-faced man, scowled.

"_Qu'est-ce qu'on va faire avec eux_?1" he queried.

"_Mettons-les dans le cachot_,2" replied the man who held Tex.

With a grunt of agreement, his compatriot pushed Ferocity towards the stairs. They made their way down to the ground floor landing and through a narrow service corridor to the back of the building. Prodding Ferocity with his gun, the scar-faced man herded his captive out of the building, heading for the entrance to the stable yard. The tall gates, wide enough to admit a carriage, which gave access to the complex stood open. Tex, still protesting volubly, was forced to accompany them as they went under the arch.

Forced across the yard, the captives entered the stable block and were taken to the loose box at the end. A door swung open and they were hustled through it. After a short downhill passage, they arrived at a landslide which blocked the passage. That this was unexpected was evident by the captors' reaction.

After a great deal of profanity and a hurried consultation which neither Tex nor Ferocity could understand, they were made to turn round and go back the way they had come.

"Back to square one," proclaimed Ferocity with a grin which did nothing to assuage his captor's ill temper.

They re-emerged into the stable block to the accompaniment of more imprecations in French. Their captors clearly were at a loss as to their next move and hesitated a moment under the hay hoist. Tex saw a movement and glanced up. He could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw Ginger on the edge of the loft. In a flash, Ginger had grasped the rope and was about to launch himself into space. Tex's first thought was for the gunman. With the advantage of surprise, he charged his captor and sent him flying. The Frenchman collided with his compatriot and in the ensuing mêlée, the gun went off.

The thickset Frenchman broke Ginger's fall and was quickly subdued, but his companion was quick-witted enough to make good his escape when both Tex and Ferocity went for the same hostage-taker.

They had just made the prisoner fast when Algy emerged from the secret tunnel with a jocular remark, followed closely by Taffy.

"What kept you?" asked Ginger sarcastically.

"We were just about to come and find you when we heard them coming down the tunnel," explained Algy. "As soon as we realised they had turned back, we squeezed through the gap and came to see what was happening. You seem to have managed okay without us, anyway," he observed with a nod to the captive Frenchman.

"There were two of them," explained Ginger, "but the other one got away. He was the scar-faced chap who served me at the café, so it shouldn't be hard to get the police to pick him up."

Ginger looked at the burly Frenchman, but it was no one he had seen before. "What is your name?" he asked in English.

The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and replied in French that he didn't speak English. Ginger repeated his question in that language, but got no reply.

Algy seized the prisoner's right hand and turned it palm upward. There was no sign of a scar on any of his fingers.

"Not our prowler by the Auster, at any rate," he observed.

"I don't think that was the chap with the scar, either," added Ginger. "I got the impression it was a much younger man."

"Tex, see that the coast is clear," instructed Algy. He took his revolver out of his pocket to cover the prisoner. "Just check he isn't armed, Ferocity," he added. When the search had been made and nothing found, he motioned the captive to move ahead of him.

Tex opened the door and cautiously looked outside. The stable yard was empty, but his eyes swept the area methodically, looking for any sign of movement, before he gave the all clear.

The group emerged into the sunlight and made their way across to the portal which gave access to the stable complex. Again Algy sent Tex on ahead to check there was no sign of ambush, signalling Taffy and Ferocity to cover their rear.

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Ginger as they emerged onto the road that lead back to the chateau.

"Get Marcel to take charge," replied Algy. "After all, it's his territory and his nationals that are involved. With any luck, he'll be able to get them to sing like a canary about Henry's whereabouts and the reason for all this."

"The sooner the better," opined Ginger. "I hope they've left Henry some food and water, wherever he is. Otherwise, he's going to be in a sorry state if it takes a while to find him."

Algy nodded. "Let's get cracking. There's no time to waste."

"What about Robert?" queried Ginger as they set off back towards the house. "I don't trust him any farther than I can throw him. I wouldn't put it past him to be involved in the whole thing. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he tried to organise an escape."

Algy hesitated. "You may be right," he conceded. He motioned the party to stop. "I think we'd better be a bit circumspect." He handed the revolver to Ginger. "Keep him here under guard while I go and telephone Marcel. I'd say lock him up, but with all these passages, I don't think anywhere is secure."

"The chateau certainly seems to be riddled with them," agreed Ginger as he motioned his captive to sit in the shade of one of the plane trees that dotted the park. "The place has more secret tunnels than that Schloss von Stalhein kept the Beklinders in."

Algy took Ferocity with him, leaving Tex and Taffy to help Ginger guard the prisoner.

"Once I've contacted Marcel, I'll either come back myself or send Ferocity to bring you up to date," promised Algy. "It all depends on what I find when I get to the chateau," he added. "If Scarface has alerted Robert, it may not all be plain sailing."

Ferocity made a show of spitting on his hands. "Just like the old times," he crowed. "I hadn't realised how much I missed the action!"

"You may get more than you bargained for," warned Algy as they made their way to the chateau.

He kept a wary eye out for the old servant as they entered the hall. Algy instructed Ferocity to keep watch outside the door of the drawing room while he made the call.

"I may not be able to stop anybody eavesdropping through a panel," he observed, "but I can at least stop Robert creeping up on me via the door."

Leaving Ferocity on watch, Algy made his way to the instrument on the ornate table behind the sofa. He lifted the handset, half expecting the line to be dead, but the whine of the dial tone reassured him. Swiftly, he dialled Marcel's number.

It seemed like an age before the call was answered and he was put through to his French colleague. Before Marcel could say anything about what he had found out about the fingerprints, Algy broke in.

"You've been working too hard of late; I think it's time you took a holiday," he advised the Frenchman. "Come and visit us at the chateau; we have a present for you from the area. You'll have to be quick, though," he added, "it won't keep. Ginger is taking care of it at the moment."

Algy could imagine Marcel's puzzled look at the other end of the line, but then the penny dropped. "It is my lucky day," the gendarme replied. "I 'ave some leave due. I'll fly down this afternoon. It will be good to talk to you face to face. We 'ave a lot to catch up on."

"Keep a sharp look-out when you land in the park," counselled Algy. "The ground can get rather bumpy."

"_Entendu_," confirmed Marcel. "I will, 'ow you say, keep my eyes scraped."

"Peeled," corrected Algy with a laugh. "Make sure you do. I'd hate to see you come a cropper."

"_A bientôt_,_ mon ami_," concluded Marcel as he put the telephone down.

Algy listened a moment before he replaced the receiver, but he could detect no sign that his conversation had been overheard on an extension.

Ferocity was still outside the door, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. In answer to Algy's enquiring look he gave a slight shake of the head.

"That's suspicious in itself," murmured Algy. "He always seems to be around whenever we are, normally. The perfect servant, always ready to supply every want before we can ask."

"Let's see how Ginger's getting on," suggested Ferocity. "I expect he's bored to death by now."

Algy grinned. "Too true," he confessed. "Ginger and inaction were never a good combination."

1 What are we going to do with them?

2 Let's put them in the dungeon.


	15. Henry makes a discovery

**Chapter 15**

**Henry makes a discovery**

Lying on the stone floor of the secret passage where he had been deposited, Henry started to come round. As the effects of the chloroform wore off, he opened his eyes to find he was in pitch darkness. He sat up, causing his head to swim. Fighting a bout of nausea, he felt around him for some clue to his whereabouts. Within touching distance he could discover nothing but bare, cold stone flags and no indication of a door or wall. Henry got to his knees and groped his way across the floor. His hands encountered a wooden packing case. Overcome with curiosity, he examined it as best he could in the darkness, but it told him nothing. If only he had a light.

Then he remembered the matches in his dressing gown. Fumbling in the pockets, he located the small, oblong box. He took it out and shook it. There were not many matches in it, he recalled. He had intended to get a new box when he had finished sealing his letters. Perhaps he could eke them out by using strips from his pyjamas to make a torch, he reasoned.

Fearful of dropping the box and not being able to find it again, he put it back in his pocket as he struggled to tear a strip from his pyjamas. Why did it seem so easy when other people did it, he asked himself. At last, he freed a couple of strips from the hem of his jacket and put them in his pocket.

Carefully, he took the box out and struck a match. The sudden glare blinded him and for a moment he could see nothing. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out that he was in a narrow corridor without windows and apparently without any means of entering or leaving. The far end was full of packing cases and crates stacked on top of each other. Before he could investigate, the match burned down to his fingers and he dropped it with an imprecation. Cursing his inattention he brought out one of the strips of material he had torn off and struck another match. For a moment, he thought the cotton would not light, but eventually it flared and he was able to examine the cases in the light of its feeble glow.

The lid of one of the crates was loose. With difficulty, Henry managed to drag it to one side and let it fall to the floor with a clatter. The interior was filled with straw, which Henry swept aside and scattered on the flagstones. A soft golden gleam caught his eye; there was something metal nestling in among the stalks. In amazement, Henry freed a beautifully wrought chalice from the wheat. He examined it in the light of his make-shift torch. "Exquisite!" he breathed as he took in the fine workmanship and elegantly chased detail. He dated it as sixteenth century and there was no doubt about the excellence of the craftsmanship, even in that dim light.

As he looked at the treasure, Henry became convinced that he recognised it. He could not place where he had seen it before; indeed he was sure he had never seen the actual item, yet it was somehow familiar. He racked his brains to pin down the elusive knowledge. Where had he seen it? "Got it!" he muttered to himself as he remembered that he had seen the designs for the cup and paten among some Holbein drawings when he was researching for his PhD. The chalice was supposed to have been lost, he recalled. It had been looted by the Nazis during the last war.

Henry drew in his breath sharply as the realisation hit him. He looked at the stack of crates and packing cases stretching out into the gloom beyond the range of his feeble torch. He prised open the nearest and drew out an oil painting. The warm flesh tones of a Madonna and Child glowed in the dim light. The painting was undoubtedly the work of an Old Master. Henry thought it looked like a Caravaggio. Another lost masterpiece, he thought, stunned.

Carefully Henry lowered the priceless painting back into its case and stood back to think. Who knew what wealth was stashed here in this corridor, he pondered. Where had it come from? Who had put it here? More to the point, he thought, as the material burned down and he lit the second strip from the dying flame, how was he going to get out and tell anybody about his find? If he could not escape, he was doomed to suffocate or starve to death and neither held a great appeal for him.

Henry had not seen any obvious means of entrance, although since he was inside, there must be a way in. What got in, must get out, he reasoned, and it could only be a matter of time before he found the latch.

Raising the scrap of burning material over his head, Henry examined the end wall at the opposite end from the treasure. He ran his hand over the stonework but could detect no indentations or signs of hidden release mechanisms. The flame guttered, fanned by a faint draught. At least I won't suffocate, thought Henry, but found it small comfort as the first pangs of hunger started to bite. The prospect of starvation added urgency to his efforts to find a way out.

When he had examined as much of the wall as he could reach, Henry had to admit defeat. If there was a mechanism, he could not find it. He made his way through the pile of packing cases to the other wall, but drew a blank there also.

There must be at least forty paintings stacked against the wall, he estimated, as he came back to his original position. If each of them was an Old Master, the value of the hoard would be astronomical. He sat on one of the crates. The irony of the position was not lost on him. He was sitting on a fortune in art treasures but he would have traded the lot for a plateful of bacon and eggs. The flame was beginning to dim, so Henry twisted some of the straw together and lit it. The smoke wafted up, curling through the air before disappearing through the join where the two walls met.

With this evidence of an opening, Henry renewed his efforts to find the release mechanism. In frustration, he charged the wall, but to no avail. All he succeeded in doing was bruising his shoulder. Muttering angrily, he was about to rush at it headlong once more, when the opening slid back to reveal a figure silhouetted against the aperture.


	16. Shocks for Ginger

**Chapter 16**

**Shocks for Ginger**

Ginger looked at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. Tex looked at him sympathetically.

"Time's dragging, eh, kid?" he drawled.

Ginger sighed. "You know me, Tex," he admitted, "I never did like hanging around doing nothing."

Tex stretched lazily. "Algy sure is taking his time," he granted. "I wonder what's keeping him."

As if the words had conjured him up, Algy came into view around the curve in the path, followed closely by Ferocity. Ginger handed the revolver to Tex, stood up and went towards Algy, leaving Tex and Taffy to watch their prisoner.

Algy brought Ginger up to date with his conversation with Marcel.

"No sign of Henry?" queried Ginger as they made their way back to the others.

Algy shook his head. "No sign of anybody," he replied. "Robert seems to have done a bunk. The place was deserted."

Ginger looked at their prisoner speculatively.

Algy eyed his comrade suspiciously. "What have you got in mind?" he asked.

"I'll bet he knows where Henry is," observed Ginger. "If only we can encourage him to talk."

The portly Frenchman regarded Ginger malevolently as he approached.

Summoning his best French, Ginger told the man that they would soon be handing him over to the French police. Despite the man's bravado, Ginger thought he saw a flicker of fear behind the dark eyes.

"Kidnap and murder are capital offences, are they not?" inquired Ginger. "I mean, when you are found guilty, you will go to the guillotine."

"I have not killed anyone," protested the captive.

"Perhaps not yet," conceded Ginger, encouraged that he had managed to get the man to break his silence, "but we have not found the new Comte. If he is locked up somewhere, with no food or water, he may well be dead soon. You, as his kidnapper, will be responsible for his death," he added with inexorable logic. "That means you are guilty of murder."

The man briefly looked shiftily towards the chateau, but said nothing.

"If you were to tell us, where he is, I'm sure that would help you," insisted Ginger.

The man looked furtively around him, as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it.

Ginger turned away. He walked out of earshot of the prisoner and beckoned Ferocity to him and asked where he and Tex had been when the kidnappers had seized them.

"I'll bet that Henry is somewhere round there, then," murmured Ginger. "That look the chap gave back towards the chateau when I asked about Henry makes me think he must be in there somewhere. That staircase is as good a place as any to start looking."

Algy watched as Ginger walked back to the captive and looked at him steadily without speaking for several minutes. Finally, as if making up his mind, Ginger ordered in French, "get up. We're going up to the roof and you're coming with us."

The man started slightly and Ginger felt he was getting warm. He would have to be very watchful, he thought. The answer might lie in the slightest of movements. The prisoner's body language would provide the clues to Henry's whereabouts, he felt sure.

Covered by Tex who waved the gun menacingly, the prisoner got to his feet. "If he makes a false move, don't hesitate to kill him, Tex," instructed Ginger calmly, his eyes on the Frenchman. "In fact," he added matter-of-factly, "if he doesn't co-operate, I'll shoot him out of hand."

Both Tex and the prisoner looked at him in horror. "You don't mean that, do you, kid?" drawled Tex, thinking that being a policeman had changed Ginger's nature more than he could ever have reasonably expected.

Ginger shook his head. "No, of course I don't," he admitted, "I'm no murderer, but I do know our friend understands English," he added sagely. "Let's drop the pretence," he told the Frenchman in that language, relieved that his bluff appeared to have worked. "You understood what I said perfectly well. Now answer my questions. Make no mistake, while I won't have you shot in cold blood, if you don't let us know where the Count is, it will mean serious consequences for you once we hand you over to the police. You haven't got long; a member of the Sûreté is on his way."

The man shrugged. "It make no difference," he replied in a surly voice in English. "If you shoot or the police come, if I tell you I am a dead man."

Ginger was about to ask him why that should be so when a shot rang out. Ginger, who was standing in front of the prisoner, felt the wind of the bullet's passage and the man collapsed, blood staining his shirt.

Shocked and horrified by the suddenness of the fulfilment of the man's prophecy, Ginger bent over him to hear the whisper, "la tour … " before the Frenchman expired.

White-faced, Ginger looked up. The others had spread out and were searching the area.

"Over here!" it was Algy's voice and they all rallied to his position, behind one of the ancient trees that dotted the park.

Ginger felt as though his legs were made of rubber. They didn't want to obey him and the sky was ominously dark, but as he ran across to Algy his head cleared and he felt more in control of his limbs.

"Are you alright, kid?" asked Tex, grabbing Ginger's arm to steady him as he reached the group.

"Just a bit shocked," replied Ginger in a classic understatement. "Whoever killed him was a marksman. That bullet passed right by me."

"Either that or he missed his target," observed Algy dryly. He pointed to a cartridge lying on the ground. "This is where he fired from." He bent down and wrapped the cartridge in his handkerchief, remarking, "more evidence for Marcel."

"I did get one thing out of him before he died," muttered Ginger shakily. "He said 'la tour', which means the tower." He looked at Tex and Ferocity. "As you were going up the staircase in the tower when they were coming down, I reckon that confirms that's where we'll find Henry."

"We'd better get cracking then," observed Algy. "If whoever did this gets there first, all we're likely to find is Henry's body."

They needed no urging and set off at a trot for the chateau. When they arrived there was still no sign of anyone.

"We'd better split up," suggested Algy. "Ginger you come with me, Tex you take Ferocity and Taffy and go up to Henry's bedroom. Get into the secret passageway and take the opposite direction from the one you took before – Taffy will show you."

"What's the reasoning behind that?" panted Ginger as he ran up the stairs beside Algy.

"It might lead to the same place we're going by a different route," reasoned Algy. "We didn't explore it, so we don't know where it'll end up. We do know the other end comes out at the stables and if Henry had been there we'd have seen him. Besides, that chap mentioned the tower with his dying breath. That passage could well come out in the tower. We'd look pretty silly if we spent hours looking here without any success only to find we could have got in easily by another route."

Ginger had to acknowledge the logic of that. He felt grateful that Algy had taken charge. If the truth were known, he still felt groggy from the shock of the near miss and was finding it hard to think.

As they neared the summit of the staircase, Algy slowed his pace. "Shh, quietly now," he cautioned. "We don't know who might be about."

His injunction was well advised. When they rounded the corner of the spiral staircase, they saw a gaping hole in the wall where a section had slid back to reveal a hidden chamber. Standing outside the opening, about to enter, was the man with the scar who had run away from the fracas in the stables. He was holding a gun in his right hand. As they watched in horror, he fired into the room. They heard the bullet ricochet off the walls and a dull thud as it struck something less resistant.


	17. Shocks for everyone

**Chapter 17**

**Shocks for everyone**

Henry took in the apparition framed in the opening to his prison. Relief and suspicion competed for supremacy in his thoughts. When he saw the revolver in the man's hand, suspicion won and he dodged behind one of the larger packing cases.

As he did so, the thought crossed his mind that if there was going to be any shooting, he was relying for protection on a small fortune in art treasures. He hoped that the man with the gun knew what was in the crates and would be unwilling to damage the loot.

"Come here!" ordered the newcomer peremptorily.

"Like Hell I will," thought Henry cynically. It was a voice he did not recognise. French, but speaking English. He kept silent. After all, he reasoned, he had been chloroformed before being dumped in the secret room. For all the gunman knew, he, Henry, might still be unconscious.

"Come here or I shoot," came the voice again, high pitched and angry.

Henry crouched down lower behind the packing case, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. If the man expected him to obey his instructions, thought Henry ironically, he was going about it in completely the wrong way.

Henry heard the report of the gun. The flash from the muzzle lit up the room briefly, blinding him. The bullet ricocheted off the walls and embedded itself in a packing case with a dull thud. Henry hoped that it had not put a hole through one of the exquisite canvases.

As if the man had suddenly come to his senses and realised that he risked damaging the contents of the storeroom he ceased firing and lowered the weapon.

Henry heard movement and took a chance. The packing case which sheltered him was in deep shadow, so he felt he could try to find out what was going on without too great a danger of being observed. He snatched a quick look now his eyes had recovered from the flash. The man had moved into the room, but could still be seen faintly in the light admitted through the open doorway.

On hands and knees, Henry shuffled round to the opposite side of the crate from his adversary. He measured the distance to the doorway and wondered if he could make a dash for it. On reflection, he had to admit that several years sitting at a desk had slowed him down. His joints were stiff from inaction and he doubted he could sprint fast enough to escape being shot when he was outlined against the daylight. It would, he reflected sadly, be like shooting geese in a barrel.

He ducked down again. Unfortunately for him, his sleeve caught the lid of the packing case and dislodged it. The clatter of the falling wood sounded abnormally loud and Henry swore softly under his breath. There was nothing for it, he told himself. Now the man knew where he was and that he was awake, he'd have to move his position.

Gathering himself together, Henry put his hand on the packing case to lever himself up ready for a mad dash to the doorway. His fingers touched cool metal, chased with an intricate design. He knew what it was immediately; the chalice. He grasped it automatically and heaved himself to his feet. The man was looking in his direction, the light glinting on the dull barrel of the pistol. Henry saw the man's finger tighten on the trigger and flung the cup. Simultaneously several things happened.

As if in slow motion, Henry saw the chalice fly through the air towards the gunman. The weapon went off and the missile spun eccentrically, struck by the round. Two figures appeared in the entrance. There was some shouting and a sharp report as one of the new arrivals fired into the air. The gunman took the full force of the chalice between his eyes and fell over backwards knocked out by the impact.

Henry made his way stiffly to the doorway. Algy was covering the unconscious gunman with a smoking pistol. Beside him, Ginger looked pale as death, his shirt bloodstained.

"Am I glad to see you!" exclaimed Henry with feeling. "Things were just starting to get nasty."

Algy indicated the insensible kidnapper. "We thought he'd hit you when we heard him fire," he admitted, "but we didn't dare approach until he moved into the room. There's no cover on that landing. It's too exposed to let us get close safely while he was standing in the open."

Henry looked at Ginger with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked anxiously. "You're bleeding."

Ginger looked down at the blood on his shirt, seeing it for the first time. "It's not mine," he said, relieved. "Somebody shot one of the kidnappers and I happened to be standing in the way."

The handle of the doorway that lead out onto the roof rattled, swiftly followed by a hammering.

"Who is it?" asked Henry, unthinking.

"It's us," announced Ferocity uninformatively.

"Let us in, look you!" implored Taffy's voice.

Ginger went across, turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Taffy, Tex and Ferocity were standing there, accompanied by a thin, elderly, distinguished looking man who bore more than a passing resemblance to Henry.

The party stepped onto the landing. Henry looked at the elderly man. "Henri?" he queried.

The Frenchman nodded, puzzled, and looked him up and down. "Who are you?" he inquired curiously in excellent English.

"I'm your cousin Henry," he announced to everyone's surprise. He turned to the gathering and explained, "this is the Count de Harcourt. He isn't dead after all."

This bombshell struck everyone dumb for a few moments then suddenly everyone started speaking at once.

"How come?" asked Ginger.

"Where has he been?" asked Algy.

"Delighted to meet you," said Henry and his cousin almost simultaneously.

"Where did you find the Count?" asked Ginger when the hubbub had died down.

"We did what you said," explained Tex, "and followed the passageway through to the end. We managed to find the lock to open the door at the end and it came out in a small room. The Count was in there with a small supply of food and water. He said he'd been there for months. His captors came and fed him regularly but he had had no contact with the outside world."

"Since the fire," murmured Ginger.

"Fire?" queried the Count.

Ginger explained. "So whose was the body that was identified as yours, sir?" he asked the Count.

"It must have been my butler, Robert's," was the astonishing reply. "The robbers knocked him out when he came to my aid and I never saw him again. I was dragged off to that room where a strange servant, dressed in Robert's clothes, delivered my food. I can only assume that they had killed him and substituted this impostor," continued the Count to everyone's amazement. "What I don't understand is why."

"I think I can answer that one," supplied Henry to everyone's surprise. He indicated the secret room. "If you take a look in those packing cases you'll find a king's ransom in stolen art treasures."

"Ah," breathed the Count. "During the war the chateau was used by the Nazi High Command while I was away helping the Resistance. The Gestapo had its headquarters here. The Nazis must have collected the booty from all over Europe and chose the chateau, probably because there are so many secret rooms and passages, to stash the hoard. They would have found it very convenient for their purpose. The collaborators must have found out about it somehow during their visits to the chateau. I don't know why it took them so long to come and call for the loot."

"I think I can answer that question, _mes amis_," put in Marcel, who had arrived unnoticed at the head of the staircase. All eyes switched to the gendarme.

"Thanks to the fingerprints on the Auster," explained Marcel as he handcuffed his prisoner who had by now regained consciousness, "we identified a petty crook who had just been released from prison where he had been sent for theft and blows and wounds. He had three accomplices who had also served sentences for similar offences. Birds of a feazzer group together," he quoted proudly, if somewhat inaccurately.

Faced with a charge of murder which carried a capital penalty, the captive made a clean breast of it. They had all been involved in helping the Germans during the war, which is when they became aware of the riches stored in the secret room. They had plotted to return to the chateau and take the loot, but had been surprised by the Count and his servant. He claimed that Robert's death had been an accident, but that Gerard, who had been a conman, had seen a way of turning it to their advantage. He would impersonate the dead servant and they would be able to recover the loot and fence the artworks at their leisure.

They had set fire to the wing as a way of destroying the body, but it had almost backfired when the fire brigade took so long to arrive they thought the whole chateau might go up and the treasure with it. Fortunately, the fire had been confined to one wing.

They decided to keep the old Count prisoner until such time as everything was safely disposed of, they had got the money and had made good their escape. No one would miss the Count, they assumed, because everyone would think he was dead. They had not reckoned on Henry's arrival as the new Count and still less that he would invite some friends to stay who were policemen.


	18. Postscript

**Chapter 18**

**Postscript**

Armed with the information from their prisoner and the fingerprints from the cartridge which Algy had kept, Marcel was able to apprehend the conman Gerard and prove it was he who had shot his corpulent companion in the park. He paid the ultimate penalty for his assassination.

The scar-faced man received a lighter sentence for helping the courts, but was still put away for a lengthy term. That he was judged to have collaborated with the Germans during the war counted heavily against him.

The younger man whom Ginger had spotted trying to get into the Auster at the beginning of their stay turned out to be Gerard's brother, a former pilot who had been intending to steal the aircraft and make good his escape from France where he was wanted for a string of misdemeanours. As Marcel observed when he was taken into custody, that wrapped up a lot of crimes with one arrest.

Thanks to Nazi efficiency which had meant a detailed inventory was found with the packing cases, recording the original locations of all the stolen artwork, the treasures were restored to their former owners where these could be traced, but not before the payment of a large reward by the insurance companies grateful for their recovery. By mutual consent, the money was shared out between all the comrades. The windfall provided a welcome cash injection for the Count which he put to good use by restoring the chateau to its former glory. Henry returned to being Dr Harcourt, although as the Count pointed out, in due time he would inherit both the title and the chateau. When the paperwork was found, Algy remarked that he wouldn't have been at all surprised to see Erich had been involved, but the name von Stalhein did not appear among the documentation. As Ginger pointed out, if it had, the treasure would have disappeared long before they got there.

Ginger and Algy returned to England after their busman's holiday. As Ginger observed when he walked back into the office at Scotland Yard, it was good to get back for a rest.


End file.
